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Book._^Er9l_Q__ 
Gopight N°_ _ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 

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Double-Eagles 

by 

MARK S. ^ROSS, S. J. 

Author of “To The Dark Tower’* 


SECOND REVISED EDITION 


B. HERDER BOOK CO. 

17 South Broadway, St. Louis, Mo. 

AND 

68 Great Russell St., London, W. C. 

1923 






/ 

Copyright, 1923 
by 

B. Herder Book Co., 


All rights reserved 
Printed in U. S. A. 


MAY 18 '23 

5486 Q 


IC1A705486 

s f 

*uv *1S’ 


To 

JAKE, LINTON, and TOMMY 


FOREWORD TO SECOND EDITION 


I wish to thank you, boys, for the generous wel¬ 
come you gave my little story on its first appearance. 
Owing to this kindness it has made bold to come forth 
again. Be good enough now to introduce it to your 
friends. 


M. S. G. 


COME ON ALONG! 


“Double-Eagles,” boys, is a tale of fishing and 
treasure hunting and hairbreadth escapes: pleasures 
dear to your hearts—and mine. The scene is laid 
along one of the beautiful streams of Missouri. The 
time is “many years ago,” when the author, who is 
not inconveniently decrepit now, was of an age apt to 
imagine that every dark wood held a mystery at its 
heart and every green river “hole” concealed a 
“big un.” Isn't this so? 

The incidents narrated in this book may never have 
occurred; indeed, I fear grown-ups will tell you the 
whole story is an exaggeration. Maybe it is; any¬ 
how, boys, (you don’t mind my speaking to you this 
way?) I can remember dreaming of these things and 
wishing they would come true. Perhaps you also 
dreamt of them; perhaps you also wished them to 
come true: perhaps? but there’s no perhaps about 
it! Well, then, get into the boat yonder—“old Sam 
‘Jones” has two—and come with us on this trip; 
“Ned Taylor, his brother Hal, and I” will be glad 
to have you—as witnesses. Are you on board? then 
shove off! 


M. S. Gr. 









Contents 


CHAPTBR PAGK 

I. The Start. 1 

II. A Sinister Conversation.10 

III. We Pitch Camp ....... 16 

IV. The Thing in the River.23 

V. Tom Crawford 1 .32 

VI. Ned Swims for the “Big Cat” ... 41 

VII. Rough-Handled by the River .... 50 

VIII. Ned Shoots One of Our Five Bullets . . 59 

IX. A Nocturnal Visitor.68 

X. Ned Shoots One of Our Four Bullets . . 77 

XI. Hal’s Discovery.86 

XII. The Dead Come to Life?.94 

XIII. I Set out My Throw-line.101 

XIV. A Nocturnal Visitor of Another Sort . 110 

XV. I Pull in My Throw-line.120 

XVI. We Break Camp.130 

XVII. Ned Rescues Little Nettie.141 

XVIII. A Banquet Fit for the Gods: with 

Consequences.151 

XIX. Paul Plover.163 

XX. We Sleep between Sheets . . v 172 














CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI. We Plan to Spy upon the Enemy . . . 181 

XXII. My Night Adventure.192 

XXIII. My Night Adventure— Continued . . 200 

XXIV. Next Morning on the Ledge .... 210 

XXY. The Triple-Blazed Oak.218 

XXYI. Dead Man’s Cave.229 

XXVII. What Happened in Dead Man’s Cave . 240 

XXVIII. What Happened in Dead Man’s 

Cave —Continued ..249 

XXIX. On the Brow of the Cliff.259 

XXX. Treasure-Trove.274 







DOUBLE-EAGLES 


CHAPTER I 

THE START 

I REMEMBER as if it were yesterday that bright 
June morning many years ago when we three, 
Ned Taylor, his brother Hal, and I set out down the 
Frisco track for the Marmac. We had got off the 
train at Kimley about ten o’clock, bought our pro¬ 
visions, and were now on our way to meet old Sam 
Jones down at the sand pit near the river. We had 
arranged by letter to buy his boat for ten dollars; 
we had written that we should commence our trip 
this morning; and he was to have the boat in ship¬ 
shape condition and all ready for us. 

Now here, before I get any further, I think it 
well to mention how old we were. Ned was the eld¬ 
est, having just turned seventeen; I was a year 
younger; and Hal, if questioned, would probably 
have said that he was going on sixteen, though, to 
be sure, he had some three or four months still to 
go. For all that, Hal knew more about fishing than 
either Ned or I; certainly he knew more than I did. 
Well, it was a pretty hard task carrying our lug- 
1 


2 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


gage that half mile to the river. It was a hot day, 
and the cinders along the track were blistering. 
Our outfit, too, being considerable, made the way 
seem hotter. And yet, seeing we were to spend a 
week on the river, coming down from Kimley to 
Valley Junction, we were not taking along so much 
as you would expect. Here is what we had. 

First of all, there was a blanket apiece. Then 
we had a .22 Winchester repeater, with two hundred 
rounds of cartridges. For fishing-tackle we brought 
along two trot-lines and one hundred and ninety 
snoods with hooks attached. Ned was taking with 
him a handsome rod and reel and a card of flies, 
which stylish things he had borrowed from a friend. 
He was going to try his hand at casting for bass, 
he said. Hal was carrying a big bucket of worms 
—one thousand of them—which he had spent the 
previous ten days in digging. As I said, I myself 
am not much of a fisherman, but I slipped into our 
kit a large black hook, about the length of your 
hand, which I had purchased with the idea that it 
might come handy. Then, of course, we had a dip- 
net and fish-bag, and these completed our fishing 
gear. 

Added to the foregoing articles were also a brand- 
new hatchet we had bought in Kimley, a skillet, a 
coffee-pot, a knife, fork, spoon, cup, and plate apiece, 
and a lantern with a half-gallon can of kerosene. 

As to provisions, we had four pounds of coffee, 


THE START 


3 


some sugar, a flitch of bacon, salt, two dozen loaves 
of bread, and, as a delicacy, a jar of strawberry 
jam. 

I forgot to mention that Ned had on his person 
a pencil and note-book in which he intended to 
keep a diary of our adventures. And indeed it is 
owing to this little book that I am able to recall 
so vividly and to set down here many an incident 
which otherwise would have slipped my memory. 

Staggering under this load, we made our way on 
down the Frisco track. When we reached the little 
ravine that dipped into the river just this side of 
the pit we heard a voice hailing us. 

“Hi, boys! Just foiler the path down the right 
here.’ 7 

We did so and came out on a small landing at 
the margin of the river. There, sure enough, was 
Sam with an oar in his hand, standing near a broad- 
beamed rowboat that looked pretty old and weather¬ 
beaten. 

“Here y 7 are, boys, an 7 right glad I am to see you. 
An 7 here’s your boat, all spick an 7 span like new. 
An 7 dirt cheap too at ten dollars. I cal’late I 7 m 
givin 7 her away fer ten dollars. 77 

We shook hands, thanked him, and stowed our bag¬ 
gage aboard. 

“She doesn’t leak, Sam, does she? 77 I inquired. 

Sam spat indignantly into the river. 

“Leak! No! D’you reckon I’d be a-sellin 7 you 


4 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


boys a leaky boat? Not Sam Jones! She did leak, 
though,’’ he admitted, “till I caulked her up. But 
you may lay in her all night now, an’ the only water 
you’ll feel ’ull be the blessed doos of heaven.” 

With which reassurance, after we had paid him 
ten crisp one-dollar bills, we embarked at last on the 
pleasure trip we had so long looked forward to. Hal, 
being the lightest, sat on the bow thwart; I manned 
the oars, and Ned seated himself in the stern, with 
all our belongings packed snugly at his feet. 

With a few strong strokes I shot the boat out into 
midstream and then sent her stem straight around 
with the current. We were off! Before us lay a 
hundred miles of woods and water, unexplored re¬ 
gions big with a thousand adventures. Each one of 
us, I think, must have felt his heart thrill exquisitely 
with mingled pleasure and dread. For my own part, 
as we rounded a curve in the river and saw for the 
last time old Sam Jones standing away back there on 
the bank, I know that a queer sensation of danger 
and delight took possession of me. 

It was toward midday, and everything was still 
and sleepy. The river moved along noiselessly be¬ 
tween green banks, with the hot sun glaring on its 
glassy surface. The trees on either hand stirred ever 
so gently as an occasional light breeze puffed through 
their topmost branches. And now and then, as we 
passed a log lying out from the shore, a turtle would 
slide silently off and disappear in the green depths. 


THE START 


5 


And once, as I took a long sweep with my oars and 
leaned back on the thwart, I saw far up in the pale 
blue sky a lone buzzard wheeling slowly. 

But suddenly, drifting idly around a curve, we 
found ourselves face to face with a dangerous rapids. 
As if by magic the quiet laziness of the scene had 
changed. Before us sounded the angry rush of 
waters. A kingfisher, as though to give us warning, 
came shrilly chattering over our heads; and the next 
moment we were being sucked into the mouth of the 
dashing and foaming strait. For the river, at this 
point, after advancing broadly and silently up to 
the bend, suddenly converged into a narrow alley 
of water, swift, deep, and full of ugly sawyers, 
with a roof of willows reaching out low over the 
surface. 

Before I could quite collect my wits the boat had 
hit a snag, spun round and shot stern foremost under 
the overhanging boughs. Ned jumped to his feet to 
catch at one of these, in order, if possible, to swing 
the prow downstream. He reached up and grabbed, 
and at the same instant I heard a terrified yell and 
saw him start back violently, nearly capsizing the 
boat. He had laid both hands on a large moccasin 
that was lying on the limb; and the snake was even 
then hanging head downward, its jaws open and its 
forked tongue darting wickedly in and out. 

Before I could even take a stroke we had sped past 
the angry reptile; and then, as Ned made a step to 


6 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


regain his seat, a low-hanging branch knocked him 
clear out of the boat and into the rushing river. My 
heart jumped to my throat as I saw him disappear 
headlong into the treacherous current. 

For a moment Hal and I held our breath. The 
boat swept on, but there was no sign of Ned. And 
then, just as we were losing hope, his head popped up 
not two yards behind us. 

“Are you all right?” I cried and reached him an 
oar. 

He was blowing so hard that he could scarcely 
speak. 

“All right,” he gasped. “Undercurrent—got— 
me. Thought—I’d—never come up.” 

By this time we were already past the rapids and 
once more out on a broad, smooth-flowing part of the 
river. 

“Pull for the shore,” he said; “I’ll catch hold of 
the stern.” 

Shortly after we were on dry land again. It was 
a long gravel-bar, hot as a stove beneath the scorch¬ 
ing rays of the midday sun. Ned took off his clothes 
and spread them out to dry. 

“But you’ll burn to a blister without a stitch on,” 
I warned him. “Here, put this gunny-sack around 
your shoulders.” 

“There’s some shade down there,” said he, point¬ 
ing to a great log lying athwart a sand-dune. “Let’s 
have a slice of bread apiece and some of that straw- 


THE START 


7 


berry jam. My clothes’ll be dry by that time. Hal, 
get a loaf of bread and the jam. ’ ’ 

Hal hesitated. 

“Gee, you going to eat up all the provisions be¬ 
fore we get started? Besides, we’ll never get our 
lines in for to-night if we don’t hurry on and get 
to Whalen’s.’’ 

(We had decided to make our first stage at 
Whalen’s Bluff. Whalen’s Bluff, it may be noted, 
was the only part of the river we were acquainted 
with throughout the whole of our journey.) 

“Oh, we’ve got lots of time, Hal,” said I. “It 
can’t be much after one o’clock.” 

Shaking his head, Hal reluctantly got the eatables 
out of the boat, and we had our little snack in the 
shadow of the big log. 

By the time we were finished, sure enough, Ned’s 
clothes were quite dry. We got into our boat then 
and once more put off down the river. Only now, 
Ned had relieved me at the oars while I had his place 
in the stern. After a space, 

“Say, fellows,” he suddenly exclaimed, resting on 
his oars, “we haven’t christened our boat yet. What 
shall we call her?” 

“ ‘Blue Lightning,’ ” I suggested, after a little 
thought. 

“But she isn’t blue,” Ned objected. “If she was 
only blue, ’ ’ he admitted, ‘ ‘ that would be a good name, 
because she is kinda speedy.” 


8 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Well, how would ‘The Firefly’ do then?” I sub¬ 
mitted. 

“I don’t like that either, somehow. Let’s christen 
her ‘The Lady of the Lake.’ ” 

“Shucks,” said Hal from the other end of the 
boat. “This isn’t any lake, it’s a river.” 

“Well,” said Ned, after two or three pulls at the 
oars, “I think ‘Wyvon’ would be a beautiful name.” 

“Wyvon!” I echoed blankly. 

“What’s a wyvon?” asked Hal curiously. 

“A wyvon!” Ned snorted scornfully. “Wyvon’s 
a lady’s name!” 

“How do you spell it then?” Hal persisted. 

“Y-v-o-double n-e, of course.” 

“Oh,” said Hal. And then, after a pause, “I’ve 
got a better name than Wyvon!” he cried. “Let’s 
call her 4 Big Cat’!” 

Ned laughed. 

“Who ever heard of a boat called ‘Big Cat’!” 

“That’s a good name, Ned,” I seconded; “it might 
bring us luck, and we might really catch a great big 
cat. That’s a peach of a name!” 

“There’s something in that,” he admitted slowly. 

“And just think,” Hal chipped in excitedly, “if 
we do catch a great big cat!” 

“That’s a fact,” Ned decided in a convinced man¬ 
ner. “ ‘Big Cat’ is a good name. Get a cup, Hal, 
and pour water over the prow and say, ‘I christen 
thee “Big Cat.” ’ ” 


THE START 


9 


1 * What’s the use of that ?’’ Hal protested. “ We ’ ve 
agreed to ‘Big Cat.’ She’s ‘Big Cat’ already, isn’t 
she?” 

“No, of course not. She isn’t ‘Big Cat’ until you 
christen her. That’s the way 1 they christen all the 
big ships. Only they crack a bottle of champagne 
across the prow instead of pouring river water.” 

“Well,” Hal assented skeptically; and fished out 
a cup and performed the required ceremony. 

“There now,” said Ned, pulling on the oars again, 
“We’re making our voyage in regular style—in the 
good ship Big Catl” And he buckled lustily to his 
task. 


{ 


CHAPTER II 


A SINISTER CONVERSATION 


F OR some little while we moved along down the 
current without saying anything. We were 
looking at the changing scenery on either side of us. 
On our right were high wooded hills beetling out at 
intervals in craggy precipices that dropped sheer 
down to the water. Now and then we passed a sort 
of cave or grotto, hollowed in these cliffs, which 
looked cool and inviting. Long green ferns were 
growing there, and soft moss; and water trickled 
down from the sides. On our left the country was 
low, with dense woods of willow and sycamore. So 
thick were the trees that they seemed a solid bank of 
green. And over the margin of treetops, all along 
the shore, hung a shimmering white haze. 

Presently Ned rested on his oars. 

“Gee,” said he, “I'm hot! I wonder if we can’t 
find a spring somewhere along here. There ought to 
be a spring at the foot of these hills.” 

“Let’s'wait till we get to Whalen’s Bluff,” said 
Hal. “There’s a well there at old Aunt Stanley’s? 
It’s only about a mile and a half further down.” 

10 


A SINISTER CONVERSATION 1 % 

11 Mile and a half!”.Ned flouted. < ‘IT1 bet it’s 
three miles if it’s an inch!” 

“We can drink river water/’ I suggested. “We’ll 
have to get used to it anyway. There aren’t any 
more houses after we pass Whalen’s till we get to 
Glencarm. That’s what you said. You said every¬ 
thing was as wild as Indians.” 

“I know,” Ned answered. “But there must be 
springs along the river. Lots and lots of them. 
Bound to be springs, if we can only find them. Kit 
Carson and Daniel Boone and all the pioneers, they 
could always find springs when they wanted them.” 

“They dug ’em then,” said Hal doggedly. 

“Well,” said I, “we’ll stop along here at the first 
place we can land and do a little exploring. As 
Ned says, there ought to be a spring at the bottom of 
these cliffs.” 

The river was still hugging the base of the hills, 
and the entire right bank, as far as we could see, 
was a long line of rocky bluffs indented here and 
there by leafy recesses. We had not gone far before 
we came on one of these nooks set between two high 
cliffs that fell straight down to the river. Ned ran 
the prow on the soft mossy bank beside a clump of 
hazels, and Hal sprang out. 

“Get the coffee-pot,” he said, “and if we find a 
spring we can take some water with us.” 

I took the coffee-pot out of our provision box and 
hopped ashore. 


12 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


It was a very pretty spot where we had landed. 
The tall cliffs on either hand receded from the river 
in the shape of a rough V, about fifteen yards deep 
and twenty wide. The place was filled with moss 
and ferns and dogwood and hazel bushes. It was 
cool, too, and there was a sort of sweet smell about it. 

And yet there was no trace of a spring. We 
searched along the base of the rock all around, but 
there was nothing to be seen but the green moss. 

I straightened up and, as I looked over my shoul¬ 
der, my eye fell on a sort of natural ledge about 
a foot above the river on the side of the cliff that 
stood downstream. I crossed over and examined the 
rock more closely. Sure enough, it was a perfect 
little ledge about a foot and a half wide. It ran 
along the face of the cliff and disappeared around 
the curve where the rock bulged out into the river. 
Some twelve inches below the ledge the blue water 
slid along with a low, swishing sound. 

I turned to my two comrades. 

“Wait here. I’m going to follow this ledge around 
the cliff. Maybe it’ll lead to a spring.” 

I started forward. Though I had to hug the face 
of the cliff pretty closely, it was comparatively easy 
walking. I rather expected the ledge to end abruptly 
when I got to the furthest projection of the bluff. 
But I was mistaken; it still continued, though nar¬ 
rowing. As I could now see, it led to a nook exactly 
similar to the one I had just left. But unfortunately, 


A SINISTER CONVERSATION 


13 


just as I thought I should reach it—the land was 
only five yards away—my path became so narrow 
that I could advance only at the imminent risk of 
falling into the river. I stopped, and was about to 
call out to Ned and Hal to bring the boat around. I 
opened my mouth, but the words died on my lips. 

From the depths of the recess a man had ripped 
out a brutal oath, and I heard the words: 

“Enough o’ reasons one way an’ t’other! If you 
don’t do as Buck an’ me wants, by the powers! I’ll 
mash yer head in with my fist an’ heave yer stinkin’ 
carcass to the turtles!” 

Struck through with fear, I clung to the cliff, not 
daring to move. The voice had come from behind a 
clump of bushes not fifteen yards from where I stood. 
Before I could make up my mind what to do another 
voice spoke up, a cringing, whining voice. 

“Well, Jerry, you know I ain’t a man to deceive 
you an’ Buck. I’ll do what you want. Didn’t I 
figger out that cipher for you? Where’d you be now 
without a man of eddication like me!” 

“Enough o’ that,” growled the first voice. “We 
knows you done that, an’ ain’t we promised you a 
part o’ the pile? But mind you, Tom Crawford”— 
and here followed a terrible oath—“if I ketch you 
tryin’ to double-cross me an’ Buck, I’ll squeeze you 
to a pulp with these two hands, same as I did Pete 
Bain up at Stanton.” 

By this time I had recovered somewhat from my 


14 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


fright. I had evidently stumbled upon a camp of 
ruffians, and even now was prevented from being dis¬ 
covered only by a few bushes. I was perilously 
placed indeed. Still, my mind was clear now, and I 
had regained control of my nerves. The first thing 
to do was to warn Ned and Hal not to make any 
noise; for it seemed to me that if such men caught 
us thus apparently spying on them, they might not 
listen to an explanation. Indeed, it was strange that 
they had not heard us already, but I must sup¬ 
pose they were so intent upon their quarrel that they 
heeded nothing else. Besides, the cliff cut off the 
sound of our voices. 

Already I had begun very softly to edge my way 
back along the ledge. Ned was the first to catch sight 
of me, but before he could speak I had put my finger 
to my lips. He held his tongue then, more on account 
of my frightened look, I suppose, than of my gesture. 

“What is it?” he whispered eagerly as I stepped 
down on the ground. 

I related my discovery as hurriedly as I could. 
Then, “The best thing we can do is to clear out of 
here at once,” I advised. 

But Ned’s spirit of adventure was aroused. 

“Not on your life!” he whispered. “I’m going to 
find out more about this business. You and Hal get 
in the boat and be ready to shove off. And get the 
rifle out; you may have to do some shooting.” 

Before we could protest he was up on the 


A SINISTER CONVERSATION 


15 


ledge and stealthily working himself forward. 

Hal and I, with fear at our hearts, quietly pushed 
the boat into the water till her prow was just resting 
on the bank. Then we got in. I took the oars, while 
Hal, seated in the stern, carefully locked the Win¬ 
chester together. 

Ned was already out of sight around the jut of 
the cliff. How long we waited for him I do not 
know. It seemed an age that we sat there, our hearts 
beating wildly and our eyes riveted on the shoulder 
of rock. Strain my ears as I might, I could hear not 
a word. There was only the low ripple of the water 
around the stern of the boat, and the rustle of the 
trees up on the brow of the cliff. Once a quail 
whistled, sharply and clearly, on the other side of 
the river; and once a kingfisher flew silently past. 

Then, at last, to our infinite relief Ned appeared 
at the corner of the bluff and advanced noiselessly 
and swiftly along the ledge. Once on the ground 
again, he darted for the boat. 

“Row upstream as soft as you can," he whispered, 
and shoved off. 

I obeyed. 

“Now put her about and go down the middle as 
though nothing happened.'' 

“Wouldn't it be better to let them get ahead of 
us?" said I. 

“They're going back," he explained; “up to Kim- 
ley. Gee! one of them's as big as a giant!" 


CHAPTER III 


WE PITCH CAMP 

1 WAS burning to ask Ned what he had overheard, 
but we didn’t dare to speak of anything yet, 
much less of the scoundrels over yonder on the shore. 
We were passing them now, at about thirty or forty 
yards from the cliff. 

We could see only two, although I made sure there 
had been three of them when I stood on the ledge, 
eavesdropping. Perhaps the other was still concealed 
by the bushes. One was a huge hulk of a fellow, as 
big as a giant, as Ned had said. He had a great shock 
of yellow hair and a horrible scar, as I noted even at 
that distance, which ran from his right eye across his 
cheek to the point of his frowzy chin. His com¬ 
panion was a smaller man, thin and wiry, with black 
hair and a scrawny black beard. He had but one 
eye, and this of itself lent him an air of villainy. 
Altogether, they were an evil-looking pair. 

As we passed them, they paused in launching their 
skiff (it was a blue skiff with red gunwales) and cast 
a black look our way. It seemed to me that the 
man with the scar was about to hail us, but on second 
16 


WE PITCH CAMP 


17 


thought he changed his mind, and with a rumbling 
oath bent once more bo his work. 

We were a goodish distance below them now and 
easily out of earshot. 

“Lord!” said Ned, still in a whisper, “but I had 
a close call back there/ ’ 

“What was it?” Hal and I asked excitedly in the 
same breath. “What did you hear?” 

Ned leane'd forward on the thwart. 

“Just as I was about to come back to the boat, the 
big fellow—his name’s Jerry Bottom—got up on 
the other side of the bushes. Gee, he must be seven 
feet tall! I thought sure I was discovered. But 
luckily his back was turned to me. You should have 
seen me hustle back over that ledge.” 

“But what were they quarrelling about?” I asked. 

“Well, there are three of them: Buck Webb, Tom 
Crawford and this Jerry. Tom Crawford wants to 
go on down the river. He said the sooner they got 
it the better: whatever ‘it’ is.” 

“I heard them talking about a cipher and a pile,” 
I broke in. “What’s a cipher?” 

“A secret writing,” said Ned promptly. “I’ll bet 
I know what it’s all about. They’re after a treasure 
or something, that’s what they are!” 

“Gee!” said Hal. 

“Well,” Ned continued, “Jerry and Buck Webb 
want to go back to Kimley and get more whiskey. 
They said they hadn’t enough to last them. The 


18 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


other fellow said whiskey wouldn’t help them in their 
search. * You ’ll only get tarnation drunk,’ he said. 
‘And besides, you’ll be running your neck into a 
noose at Kimley. They’ve found Pete Bain by this 
time.’ Bottom whips out a swear word. ‘I told you 
we’ve had enough of your talk, Tom Crawford. Let 
me hear another word from you and by thunder, 
I’ll wring your neck like a chicken!’ Only he didn’t 
say ‘by thunder’; he swore. You see, they’re half 
afraid this Crawford fellow wants to double-cross 
them and get the treasure himself. I wonder if it 
really is a treasure,” Ned added wistfully. “Gee, if 
I only thought it was!” 

“Gee whiz, if it was a real treasure!” exclaimed 
Hal; and for a while we were silent, pondering this 
thrilling prospect. 

“Shucks,” said Ned at last, “there’s no use think¬ 
ing about it. They’ve gone back to Kimley, and we 
won’t see ’em again probably.” 

“Do you suppose they’ll be arrested in Kimley?” 
I asked. “You know, they killed that Pete Bain at 
Stanton; Bottom said he did.” 

“Yes,” said Ned, “but when I was listening, he 
said he chucked his body down an old mine shaft 
where they’d never find him. Just to think,” he 
added after a pause, his eyes glowing, “just to think 
that we’d be meeting real bloody murderers!” 

“There it is!” Hal cried suddenly and pointed 
down the river. “Isn’t that Whalen’s Bluff?” 


WE PITCH CAMP 


19 


Ned and I turned and looked. Sure enough, it 
was Whalen’s Bluff, the upper part of it: a high cliff 
straight ahead of us, against which the river broke 
and turned at right angles. It stood up sheer from 
the river, pure white under the glare of the sun, with 
green trees waving on its summit. As we ap¬ 
proached, we could see more cliffs, one after the 
other, rising white from the water: the whole long 
line of them known as Whalen’s Bluff. The river 
here was deep and green, with hardly any current: so 
deep in fact that people said that off Whalen’s Bluff 
you couldn’t find bottom. At the other end of 
the bluff, about a quarter of a mile further, the river 
turned again and shot down a rapids straight west¬ 
ward. Here at the turn was a wide gravel-bar, lying 
between the river and a dense wood. 

“Let’s camp on the bluff,” suggested Ned. “It’ll 
be pretty there when the moon comes up.” 

“But we’ll be too far away from the lines,” Hal 
objected. “We’re going to put the lines in just 
above and below the rapids, aren’t we? Those are 
the best places.” 

“Best places to catch minnows,” said Ned scorn¬ 
fully. “We ought to fish out here in the deep water 
and catch a big one.” 

“Nothing but gars and turtles out here,” said Hal. 
“You won’t catch any fish here. Besides, when the 
dog-gone moon does come up we won’t catch any fish 
anywhere . I hope it rains.” 


20 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Rains!” cried Ned. “And ns without a tent!” 

“Well,” persisted Hal, shaking his head, “we got 
to keep the moon hid.” 

Now, whether we caught any fish or not, I cer¬ 
tainly preferred sleeping out on the gravel-bar where 
everything was clear. On top of the cliff there was 
a thick wood; you couldn’t tell what might be up 
there at night. So I said: 

“Well, Ned, it might be all right to fish here in 
the deep water near the bluff, if we only had big- 
fish bait; but we’ve only got worms, and big fish 
don’t bite on worms.” 

But Hal objected to that. 

“All you know about it, Bert Cunningham,” said 
he. “Jiminy Chrismus! you can catch a ten-pounder 
with worms, and that’s big enough for me.” 

“Well, that’s true,” I admitted. “But then, Ned, 
if you want to try a few casts for bass, you’ll have to 
go ’way down on the gravel-bar. There’s no bass- 
weed up here.” 

Ned swallowed my bait. 

“Gee, I forgot all about that! All right, let ’3 
camp on the gravel-bar.” 

In a few minutes we had landed our boat on the 
long stretch of gravel and started to unload her. 

“There’s a fine place to camp,” said I, pointing to 
a monster of a log, about six feet in diameter, that 
lay on the bar about half way between the river and 
the wood. One end of it rested on a hummock of 


WE PITCH CAMP 


21 


sand, and with its long tangled roots sticking out in 
every direction it resembled a gigantic octopus, 
stranded high and dry. 

“Now, Hal,” said Ned briskly, “you take the cof¬ 
fee-pot and go over to Aunt Mary Stanley’s and get 
some water. Bert and I will pitch camp and make 
everything snug.” 

“All right,” said Hal reluctantly. “But don’t 
you go putting in the lines till I get back.” 

“Oh, we won’t monkey with the lines,” Ned as¬ 
sured him; and Hal put off across the bar towards 
the wood. I can see him to this day as he disap¬ 
peared beneath the tall trees, a mere mite of a figure, 
trudging along and swinging the coffee-pot by his 
side. 

As Ned had promised, we made everything snug. 
We cleared a smooth place on top of the sand bank 
and spread our blankets there. Then we got out our 
hatchet, and I cut off a lot of dry roots from the log, 
and Ned piled them where we were going to build 
our fire, just down from the elevation upon which 
we had laid our blankets. 

“That’s enough wood,” said Ned; “give me the 
hatchet.” He pulled a couple of nails out of our 
provision-box and drove them into the log. “We’ll 
make this our kitchen, here near the fire;” and he 
hung up the skillet on one nail and the flitch of 
bacon on the other. Then he drew up the box and 
placed it just beneath the bacon. “Now over here,” 


22 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


he went on, “we’ll have our gun-room.” And he 
set the rifle and his rod against the log. 

“Our fishing kit should go there too,” I suggested, 
“and the lantern and oil-can and bucket of worms.” 

Then we stood back and surveyed our little camp. 
Everything was shipshape. 

By this time Hal had returned with the water, and 
we two, Ned and I,—for Hal had drunk his fill at 
the well—half emptied the coffee-pot. 

“What are we going to do for coffee now?” won¬ 
dered Ned. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Hal; “fill her from 
the river. What about putting in the lines? It’s 
about time, isn’t it?” 

Ned screwed his eyes at the sun. 

“About half-past four, I’d say.” 

“Well,” I suggested, “you two put in the lines, 
and I’ll get supper.” 

They agreed to that and went off with the trot¬ 
lines and worms. I got the fire started and then 
walked across to the river to fill up the coffee-pot. 
Ned and Hal were near the opposite shore just above 
the rapids, tying one end of the trot-line to a stumj). 

WTiile filling the pot, I noticed that the water was 
not nearly so clear as it had been earlier in the after¬ 
noon. It looked murky and clouded. 

“Oh, well,” I thought, “it won’t make any differ¬ 
ence after it’s boiled.” 


CHAPTER TV 


THE THING IN THE RIVER 

ELL, after a considerable time Ned and Hal 



returned. Though Hal was all for setting 


put both lines, Ned said that one was enough; that 
we ought to try the fishing first before we went to the 
trouble of setting out two lines. I imagine he was 
tired of handling those squirming worms. 

When supper was over we sat and talked for a 
while, and then I proposed taking a swim. But Hal 
said there was no telling, it might scare the fish; and 
we shouldn’t take any chances. 

44 Shucks,” said I, 44 we won’t be anywhere near the 
line. We’ll swim out there where the river bends 
around.” I meant the little bay which the river 
forms on this side before it swings into the rapids. 

“Well, I know what Vm going to do,” Ned de¬ 
clared, and began piecing together his rod. 44 I’m 
going down along the bar and try a few casts. 
There’s some dandy bass-weed below here.” 

But Hal and I went swimming. As we reached 
the margin of the river the sun was just going down. 
It was a glorious sight, that sunset. The clouds were 
piled up in the western sky one above the other, and 


23 


24 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


all of different colors, crimson and yellow and violet 
and deep purple and pink and a sort of blue, too. 
And right at the foot of this great heap of broken 
and jumbled rainbow burned the sun; and all along 
the horizon, close down, the sky looked like molten 
gold, and the sun himself like a great glowing nug¬ 
get that was being melted. And the river, too, looked 
like a golden river, for I was gazing straight down¬ 
stream into the heart of the sunset. 

‘ ‘ Look, Hal!’ ’ I exclaimed; ‘ ‘ isn’t that beautiful! ’ ’ 
“Yeah,” said he, without turning his head. And 
then, “0 boy, but the water’s fine!” he cried, and 
wallowed and kicked out of sheer delight. 

I waded in. Indeed, the water was fine! I struck 
out for midstream and then floated down to the turn 
where the river was shallower. Hal had followed 
me, and when we let down we were standing waist- 
deep. It was then that I noticed for the first time 
the utter change in the color of the water. 

4 ‘ Look at that water, Hal, ’ ’ said I. ‘ ‘ It’s muddy! ’ 9 
“Must ’a’ had a big storm up above somewhere,” 
said he. “Gee, but this will make the fish bite! I 
wish we’d ’a’ put in that other line. If the darn’ 
moon would only stay down! ’ ’ And he cast a frown¬ 
ing eye up over Whalen’s Bluff. 

“It’s funny,” said I, “that the water wasn’t 
muddy over there in the bend.” 

“That’s backwater,” said he; “it hasn’t reached 
there yet. Say!” he added eagerly, “let’s run the 


THE THING IN THE RIVER 


25 


line when Ned comes back. We ought to have some 
good ones swinging on.” 

We swam around a little longer, then got out and 
donned our clothes. The sun was below the horizon 
now, and twilight was fast coming in. It was queer 
how everything seemed to change now that the sun 
had set. Somehow there was a kind of lonely feeling 
in the air that made us want to keep close together. 
The frogs had begun their chorus all along the river, 
and over in the wood an owl screeched: a weird sound. 

“I wish Ned would hurry and come,” said I. 

‘‘There he is now,” said Hal, and pointed towards 
the camp. 4 ‘He must V been putting up his fishing 
pole. Catch anything?” he asked as Ned came up. 

‘‘Nup,’’ answered Ned very shortly. (He had very 
likely snarled his line beyond repair, I thought.) 
‘ ‘ Going to run the line ? ’’ 

“Yes,” said I. “You two fellows run the line, 
and I’ll make things ready for the night. Fix up a 
bit. I’ll make some coffee too.” 

When they had shoved off, I went back to camp 
and fetched another pot of water for the coffee. 
Then I laid in some more wood and built up the fire. 
Taking the rifle, I slipped a few more cartridges 
into the magazine and set it up against the log nearer 
our blankets. I sat down then and watched Ned 
and Hal out on the river. 

Darkness was coming on apace now, and I got 
quite lonesome, sitting there all by myself. I glanced 


26 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


over my shoulder at the wood behind me and was a 
little startled at what I saw; and yet the sight was 
pretty too. The whole wood was aglow with fireflies. 
Against the black background of the trees they 
gleamed like spangles. And then I heard an owl 
cry away off somewhere, and I suppose I shuddered 
a little. I know I threw another billet of wood on 
the fire and made the flame leap up. And then I 
heard Ned shout. 

“Whoopee! We got a whopper! Ten pounds if 
he’s an ounce!” 

I ran over to the river. 

“What kind is he?” I yelled. 

“A channel-cat,” Hal answered. “But he’s not 
ten pounds; doing good if he weighs six.” 

“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars he weighs ten 
pounds,” I heard Ned say. 

I sat down on the gravel and waited. It was quite 
dark now, and I could see only the gleam of the lan¬ 
tern across the river; I could not make out the boat 
at all. It was very still too; I could hear the least 
sound. Of course, there was the continual low mur¬ 
mur of the river; but that wasn’t any sound, any 
more than the trees or stars were sounds. It was so 
still that I could hear everything Ned and Hal said: 
I even heard the channel-cat flop in the boat. 

Presently, as I sat there, I noticed that the trees 
across the river grew a little brighter, and looking 


THE THING IN THE RIVER 


27 


up, I saw the moon, obscured by a veil of cloud, ris¬ 
ing over behind Whalen’s Bluff. Indeed, as I now 
remarked, the whole sky semed to be overcast; it 
was only here and there that I could make out the 
stars between the rifts of cloud. There wouldn’t be 
much of a moon after all, I judged. 

“All right, that’s the last hook,” I heard Hal say. 
And then I saw the lantern move across the water, 
and faintly discerned the outline of the boat. 

“What’d you get?” I asked, as the boat grated 
on the gravel. 

“Two nice stone-perch, a little cat, and the big 
fellow,” answered Hal. “They’re biting all right; 
every worm gone.” 

Ned lifted the fish-bag, and I saw the curved white 
belly of the channel-cat. He looked easily to be ten 
pounds. He certainly was a fine fish. 

We pulled the boat half way out of the water then, 
and tied the fish-bag fast to the stern thwart, drop¬ 
ping it over the side. 

“Gee!” said Hal as we trudged back to camp, “I 
hope it stays cloudy so’s the moon can’t come out. 
We ought to catch a lot to-night.” 

As for myself, I was wishing the moon would come 
out, clear and full; the night would not have been 
so ghost-like then. 

When we got back to camp we set the fire a-blaz- 
ing brightly, and I poured out a round of coffee. 


28 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


The night air was chilly, but the coffee warmed us 
up. Then we all sat down around the fire, and Ned 
took the rifle across his knees. 

“What would you do, Bert,” said he, “ if a cata¬ 
mount would leap on your back ? ’’ 

I turned quickly and looked behind me. Beyond 
the circle of firelight there was an outline of the wood 
against the black-gray sky, and lower great glooms 
of darkness. I shifted my position slightly. 

“You don’t think there are any catamounts around 
here, do you ? ” I asked, just a trifle uneasy. 

“No telling,” said he in a low voice. 

Well, after that we sat silent for a long time. And 
then Ned got up and went to the top of the bank 
and wrapped himself up in his blanket. 

“Wake me up when you’re going to run the line,” 
said he, and the next moment was sound asleep. 

It was about a half hour later, I suppose, when I 
felt a hand shake my shoulder. I too had fallen 
asleep, sitting there before the fire. 

“Come on, Bert,” said Hal. “Let’s run the line.” 

I jumped to my feet, rubbing my eyes. The fire 
had fallen to a glowing bed of coals. The night was 
pitch-dark, the face of the heavens being hid by a 
thick canopy of cloud; and there was a feeling of rain 
in the air.” 

“Gee,” said I, “I hope it doesn’t rain.” 

“Make the fishin’ better,” Hal promptly returned. 
“Ned, 0 Ned!” He caught him by the leg. “Wake 


THE THING IN THE RIVER 


29 


up! We’re going to run the line, Bert and I! You 
watch camp.” 

Ned stood up sleepily. 

“All right, go ahead. IT1 fix up the fire.” 

When we got down to the river we saw that the 
water had risen clear up to the peg to which we had 
moored the boat. 

“There must V been a mighty big storm up 
above,” was all Hal said; and we got .in and shoved 
off. 

Hal ran the line while I sat in the stem and held 
the lantern. It was intensely dark. Two yards be¬ 
yond the boat on either side was sheer blackness. 
Even the line of treetops on the opposite bank of 
the river I could just barely make out. And away 
down in the direction of the gravel-bar gleamed a 
point of light that marked our campfire. 

We didn’t speak much, Hal and I. Somehow you 
don’t think about talking when you are out in the 
hush of the night, running a line; everything is so 
very still. And then, too, you are always expecting 
to see the swirl of a fish’s tail in the light of your 
lantern. 

So I sat there, listening to the gurgle of the water 
about the prow and watching the line come out of 
the river as Hal baited hook after hook. Round 
chunks of foam, about the size of a platter, slid past 
us, and now and then pieces of driftwood. The 
river was rising. 


30 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


Hal suddenly plunged the line below the surface. 

“The dip-net, Bert, quick! He’s a good oner’ 

I handed him the net, and then, very carefully, 
he raised the line. The next moment we heard a 
tremendous splashing out in the darkness, and the 
line sawed up and down in Hal’s hands. 

“Lord, he’s a big one!” Hal whispered tensely, 
and again ducked the line into the water. Then he 
began cautiously to work over; but the splashing had 
ceased. We went along for about ten yards then, but 
there was no further sign of a fish. 

“Lost him, Bert,” said Hal, and there was tragedy 
in his voice. 

“Gee, that’s hard luck!” said I. “I’ll bet he 
weighed twenty pounds.” 

“Well, hardly twenty,” said he. “I’d put it at 
fifteen. He was a channel-cat too, I could tell the 
way he pulled.” 

But, though we had lost the big fellow, we caught 
a beautiful five-pound stone-perch about midstream. 
I had to keep my feet on him to prevent his flopping 
out of the boat. 

“One more sinker,” said Hal, lifting the line; 
“and I’ve got her off the bottom now. I don’t feel 
anything, so I guess that’s all.” 

We were then about twenty yards from the shore. 

“Here she is,” said Hal, as he raised the rock, 
dripping and shining, out of the water. “Hold the 


THE THING IN THE RIVER 


31 


lantern up, Bert, so’s we can have a look. There are 
seven more hooks. ” 

I lifted the lantern, shielded it with my coat and 
peered out on the river. I saw, faintly, the mark of 
the line on the surface of the water. But, all as 
I looked, it gave a violent heave downward, and the 
rock on the thwart at Hal’s elbow plumped off into 
the river. 

“Keep the lantern up, Bert!” Hal cried. “He’s 
on, all right. Jiminy, he’s a whale!” 

Hal had drawn the rock into the boat again and 
was bending over the line. 

But just then I saw something wave up out of 
the water that made my belly crawl with horror. 

“My God, Hal!” I cried. “There’s a human 
hand!” 


CHAPTER V 

TOM CRAWFORD? 

“ Jk HUMAN hand!” gasped Hal. “Where?” 

Either I had been dreaming or— 

“There it is again!” I cried. Not only a hand 
this time but a man’s whole forearm emerged from 
the dark sliding water, and then disappeared. 
“Great heavens, Hal, it’s no fish we’ve caught; it’s a 
human body!” 

There was no doubt of it now. We could see the 
body plainly as it rolled and pitched in the foaming 
current: now the shoulders would appear, now an 
arm, now the white face—a ghastly sight—with the 
hair swept smoothly back from the forehead. 

We came alongside it, and Hal raised the line. By 
the lantern-light I could see the terror in his eyes. 
My own, I suppose, betrayed an equal fright. 

“Shall I cut the snoods, Bert? There are three of 
them hooked in his clothes. We must have caught 
him when I lifted the line to the surface. ’ ’ 

“No, don’t cut them,” said I. “Let’s take the 
body ashore and bury it decently.” 

With a sensation of unutterable abhorrence I laid 
32 


TOM CRAWFORD? 


33 


hold of the dead man’s arm and began pulling him 
over the gunwale of the boat. It was a gruesome 
business, this fishing out a dead body. 

As Hal rowed back to shore, I sat in the stern con¬ 
templating our awful catch. It lay huddled at my 
feet, its head resting against the side of the boat. 
As I looked at it I could not help thinking of our 
afternoon’s experience, and of how Jerry Bottom had 
threatened to murder one of his companions. Was 
this, perhaps, the man? Was this Tom Crawford? 

I raised the lantern and scanned the face closely. 
I had never seen it before. But then neither had I 
seen Tom Crawford; he had still been behind the 
bushes, I remembered, when we passed them. The 
face before me now was a lean brown-bearded face 
with large blue eyes staring horribly up at the lan¬ 
tern. 

“Hal,” said I, “I wonder if this is that Crawford 
fellow those men threatened to kill this afternoon?” 

“I was just thinking of that. . . . Hold the lantern 
a little higher, Bert; I think we’re near the bar 
now.” 

But we were still a good way from shore, I judged, 
as I could make nothing out. I lowered the light 
again, but in the act I must have uttered a cry, for 
Hal stopped rowing. 

“What’s the matter, Bert?” 

“Look!” I cried, and pointed at the dead man’s 


34 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


head. It had fallen over from its position against 
the boat’s side, revealing the bare neck. 

4 ‘ Good Lord! ” Hal exclaimed. ‘ ‘ What did that ? ’ ’ 

“The hand of Jerry Bottom,” said I. “He alone 
could have done it.” 

Just beneath the dead man’s chin the throat was 
torn violently away; a big reeking hole, with shreds 
of flesh still clinging at its edges, gaped hideously. 

“The Crawford man,” I declared, “sure as you’re 
born! Jerry Bottom ripped the throat out of him 
and threw him into the river to drown.” 

I shuddered at my own words. I could even then 
see the monster committing the bloody deed. 

Our boat grated on the bar, and I sprang out. We 
hallooed Ned and then lifted the body out of the boat 
and laid it on the ground. Presently we heard Ned’s 
footstep on the gravel, and a moment later he ap¬ 
peared in the circle of lantern-light, a pencil in one 
hand and his note-book in the other. 

“I’ve just been jotting down an account of our 
first day out. I—” He stopped, catching sight of 
the thing on the ground; and then lifted his eyes 
to us. “What—what’s this?” 

“I’m afraid it’s Tom Crawford,” said I. “We 
caught him on the trot-line. Jerry Bottom murdered 
him all right. Look!” And I threw back the dead 
man’s head. 

Ned didn’t say anything for a while; only gazed 
in a kind of fascinated horror at the sight. Then, 


TOM CRAWFORD? 


35 


1 ‘ Have you searched the clothes for anything that 
would tell who he is?” he asked. 

The thought of going through the dead man’s 
pockets was to me simply revolting. It seemed like 
a sort of sacrilege. 

“Lord, are you going to do that, Ned!” 

“We’ve got to, if we want to find out who he is.” 
And he knelt down at the side of the body and felt 
one of the coat pockets. But I noticed how his hand 
shook. 

“Hold the light closer,” he said. “It’s got to be 
done.” And then the three of us bent over the pros¬ 
trate form while Ned rapidly went through the 
clothes. 

In one of the trouser pockets he found a quarter 
and two pennies, and slipped them back again with¬ 
out a word. Then, from the inside coat pocket he 
drew out a water-soaked envelope bearing neither 
stamp nor address, and handed it over to me. The 
remainder of the search revealed nothing but a few 
crumbs of wet tobacco and five or six headless 
matches. 

Ned turned to me. 

“Let’s see what’s in the envelope. I guess it’ll 
give us a clue as to who he is. ’ ’ 

Bending over the lantern, Ned opened the envelope, 
took out a tintype picture and held it to the light. 
It was the image of a pretty young girl dressed all 
in white:—no name, no writing,—just the picture. 


36 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


In silence Ned thrust the tintype back into the coat- 
pocket. Then he examined the envelope again and 
found a thin folded sheet of writing-paper. It was 
a letter, written hastily with a pencil, without name, 
date or address. It began, '‘Dear Pal,” and was 
signed, “Yours truly, W. J. F.” 

This certainly didn’t throw much light on the dead 
man’s identity. True, if it were he who wrote the 
letter, then he was scarcely the same man as Tom 
Crawford. For, evidently, W. J. F. were not Tom 
Crawford’s initials. Nor were the contents of the 
letter any the more enlightening. As I remember it, 
the writer was relating his meeting with a crabbed 
old person who was unwilling to trade a horse. I 
forget the precise details, but at all events the letter 
did not give us an inkling as to the dead man’s name, 
although it led us to infer that he might have been 
a horse-dealer. 

Ned read the letter aloud and then tossed it aside; 
and the three of us stood up, with the dead man at 
our feet, and looked at one another. 

“Well, the only thing to do,” said I, “is to bury 
him. We can’t do it very well without a shovel, but 
there’s a lot of loose sand between our camp and the 
wood. We could scoop out a sort of grave with our 
hands and cover him with sand.” 

“First, we’d better make the boat fast,” warned 
Hal. He stepped over to the water’s edge. “Gee, 


TOM CRAWFORD? 


37 


but the river's rising! It’s backed up two feet at 
least since we’ve been talking.” 

We hunted about for something, then, to which 
we might moor the boat, but the only thing we found 
was the stump of a log sticking out of the bar about 
ten yards from the water. It was solid enough, be¬ 
ing buried deep in the gravel. I cut off a piece of 
the trot-line which we hadn’t used, and attached one 
end of it to the painter. The other end we knotted 
securely around the stump. Then we put our stone- 
perch in the fish-bag and tied the bag to the boat, 
just giving it enough slack to lie in the water. 

11 That ’ll be all right, ’ ’ said Ned. 41 The river won’t 
rise much further. Now Hal, take the lantern, and 
Bert and I will carry the—the body.” 

It must have been a strange procession we made 
as we crossed the bar in the pitch-black night, with 
Hal in front swinging the lantern and Ned and I 
stumbling along behind with our awful burden. 

When we reached the spot beyond the camp, we fell 
to work quickly and silently, scooping out the soft 
sand. It was a hard job, and we had to pause oc¬ 
casionally and rest. But when we would turn and 
see the dead man lying there next to us, his wide eyes 
staring into his shallow grave, we didn’t need further 
coaxing, I can tell you, to begin our work again. I 
can see the picture to this day: In the cup of light, 
within that immense darkness, we are there on our 


38 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


knees, hastily throwing out double handfuls of sand 
and ever and again glancing askance at the thing 
that lay so stark and awesome at our side. 

Our task was done at last. Into its makeshift 
grave we laid the body, crossed the arms on its breast, 
and covered it with sand till we had built up a con¬ 
siderable mound. Then we got up and gazed in si¬ 
lence at the last resting place of the unknown man 
whom we had taken from the river. 

“Poor devil,” said Ned at length, “I wonder if 
he was murdered. ... I wonder where he is now.” 

“Let’s say a prayer for him,” Hal suggested, and 
without further word the three of us knelt down in 
the sand and prayed for the repose of his soul. I 
prayed for ourselves too, and asked Our Lady to take 
care of us, for I had a feeling that great perils lay 
before us. 

We went back to camp then and decided to break 
the night up into watches. It was all of eleven 
o’clock, we judged, and accordingly we apportioned 
the watches from eleven to one, from one to three, 
and from three till it should be time for the first run 
of the trot-line. We had agreed that we wouldn’t 
go out on the river again that night, doubtless on 
account of our recent experience; our spirits were 
more than a little subdued, as you may suppose. 

We drew straws for the watches, and I got the 
first, Ned the second, and Hal the third. We had 
no timepiece, so we left it to the guess of the one 


TOM CRAWFORD? 


39 


on duty to determine when his two hours should be 
up. 

“Now you fellows roll in,” said I, bustling about 
the fire. “Two hours go by mighty quick when 
you’re asleep.” 

But it was a good while before either of them 
dropped off. They snuggled down into their blan¬ 
kets with the best of intentions, while I got into a 
comfortable attitude near the blazing fire. But be¬ 
fore long Ned raised his head. 

“Do you think that was Tom Crawford?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. Looks like it. Go to sleep.” 

He pillowed his head on his arm again. Then, 
after a little, Hal sat up suddenly. 

“Where’d we leave those worms, Bert?” 

“ ’Way up on the bar. The river can’t get at ’em. 
They’re all right.” 

He lay back once more, but five minutes had not 
elapsed before I heard him roll over. 

“Bert?” 

“Well?” 

“Say, I’ll bet we have some dandies swinging on 
by morning.” 

“I hope so. Better keep still; Ned’s sleeping.” 

“Shucks,” grunted Ned from the folds of his blan¬ 
ket, “I’m not sleeping. I’m thinking about that 
hole in the dead man’s neck. I wonder if Jerry Bot¬ 
tom did do that.” 

I made no answer, for I knew that if I did they 




40 DOUBLE-EAGLES 

would never get to sleep. I just sat there silent, 
facing the fire, with my back against the log and the 
rifle across my knees. And shortly after my silence 
took effect, for I heard their deep regular breathing 
and knew that both had fallen sound asleep at last. 


CHAPTER VI 

NED SWIMS FOR THE “BIG CAT” 


B UT now came the lonely part of my watch. As' 
long as I knew that Ned and Hal were awake 
I had the comfort* of conscious companionship; with 
both of them now asleep, although so near, I felt as 
if I were all alone in that wild spot. And the feeling 
did not add to my peace of mind. 

How long I sat there, watching the fire die slowly 
down, I really do not know. In effect it must have 
been only a little over an hour, though it seemed to 
me ages and ages. I was aware of this, and conse¬ 
quently did not call Ned, for I didn’t wish him to 
stand any portion of my watch. 

As the minutes dragged by and the fire sank lower 
and lower, I sat and listened to the mysterious noises 
around me. From time to time there trembled on 
the night air the lonesome wail of an owl somewhere 
in the wood; the rising river murmured unceasingly, 
and from all sides came the sharp staccato of frogs. 
And once, far off in the darkness, sounded a high 
crackling cry, like an evil laugh. I shifted the rifle 
a little on my knees. 

And then somehow—perhaps because I was think- 
41 


42 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


ing of him—my eyes wandered to that point in the 
thick gloom where, I knew, the dead man lay. I half 
fancied that I could discern the long low mound; it 
was indeed quite close, not twenty-five paces from 
where I sat. I fell to wondering what I should do 
if his pale face with its staring eyes should thrust 
itself within the circle of firelight; if I should sud¬ 
denly see the white neck with its deep dark wound. 

I wrenched my mind away from the image. It 
was sheer folly, I knew, to allow myself to dwell on 
it. I should merely be working myself up to a 
groundless fright. I kicked the unburned end of a 
stick into the coals. It sent up a cheerful spray of 
sparks, a flame broke out, and I leaned back once 
more against the log. 

The night wore on. I replenished the fire, and as 
the flames leaped higher, casting a larger circle of 
light, I took a turn up and down to relax the stiff¬ 
ness of my legs. Then I resumed my old position, 
having made up my mind to call Ned in about fifteen 
minutes. My watch, I judged, was nearly over. 

Indeed, the night was getting old. The leopard- 
frogs along the river margin had now ceased to cry; 
and it was only at long intervals that I heard the far 
boom of a bullfrog. Even the owl had left off his 
weird wailing. All things were hushed, with that 
deep hush that falls after the midnight hour. There 
would be life and sound later—even an hour later— 
but now the night was steeped in stillness. 


NED SWIMS FOR THE “BIG CAT” 


43 


A piece of the firewood, burnt through, fell inward 
with a soft crash. I started up and rubbed my eyes. 
I had been nodding and dozing; and I thought I was 
wide awake! 

I took the rifle then and went up on the bank 
where the other two were sleeping. I would get set¬ 
tled first and then rouse Ned. 

I wrapt myself up comfortably in my blanket and 
reached out a hand to shake his shoulder. The fire¬ 
light was on his face, and I could see that he was 
sound, sound asleep. I didn’t have the heart to 
awake him at once, so I lay there for a while gazing 
down into the flames of the dying fire. And as I 
gazed, the flames began to play a sort of game: they 
were trying to outleap one another. First one would 
start up and mount high and higher, and all of a 
sudden collapse. Then another would shoot straight 
up, only to flicker back inta the bed of coals. A 
third would follow and then a fourth; and both 
would die down together. Then another. . . . 

I opened my eyes and looked up into a dull, leaden 
sky that was full of a fine rain, like a rolling mist. 
I could not tell whether it were five o’clock of the 
morning or nine; the pale gray light might have be¬ 
longed to either hour. But at all events it was morn¬ 
ing, and I had fallen asleep without waking Ned! 

I tossed aside my wet blanket and sat up; the sight 
that met my eyes quite dumbfoundered me, 


44 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


Water was all about us, a wide yellow sea of it; 
and we three were marooned on a tiny island in the 
vast expanse. Gravel-bar was gone and the scrub 
willows along the margin. The only object visible 
between me and the opposite bank (which seemed a 
tremendous distance away) was our boat, standing 
still as if by magic out there on the surface of the 
river. The great log under which we had cooked 
our supper had almost wholly disappeared. The end 
with the tangle of roots, which rested halfway up 
on our mound, was the only part of it above water. 

“Hey, you fellows! Wake up! The river’s risen 
and washed us out! ’ ’ 

They opened their eyes, jumped to their feet, and 
looked around with faces full of wonder and dismay. 

“It was my fault, fellows,” I said. “I fell asleep 
just when I was going to wake Ned. I’m sorry as 
the deuce. I—” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Ned, but I could see 
that he was pretty vexed. “No time now for apol¬ 
ogies and such things. We’re in a pickle, fellows, 
and we have to get out of it.” He turned towards 
the wood beyond our camp. “Look at that water out 
there; why, it’s over my head by that sycamore tree! ’ ’ 
He stopped and wheeled about, looking at Hal and 
me. His face wore a very solemn expression; but 
there was no longer any fear in his eyes. “It’s not 
a pickle we’re in, fellows; it’s danger, mortal dan¬ 
ger!” 


NED SWIMS FOR THE “BIG CAT” 


45 


I looked over at the wood and saw the strong cur¬ 
rent sweeping logs and brush and tangled grape-vines 
pell-mell among the tree-trunks; and I realized that 
no human being could live in such a torrent. 

“One of us has to swim for that boat,” continued 
Ned. “It’s our only hope of safety. If the river 
rises another six inches it might carry this mound 
from under our feet.” 

“Well,” said I, “I’ll swim for it.” 

“No you won’t,” declared Ned. “You and Hal 
stay here. I’m the oldest, and it’s only right that I 
should run the risk. You and Hal can fish around 
here and try to find some of our kit. Most of it is 
washed away though, I guess.” 

“But look here, Ned,” I protested, “this is all my 
fault. I am the one that fell asleep, and I ought to 
swim for the boat. I’m not a bit afraid, honest. 
And I can make it, I know.” 

Though I spoke with so much assurance, my judg¬ 
ment told me that, whichever of us undertook the 
task, our chances of accomplishing it were very slen¬ 
der. In the first place, there was a powerful current 
to stem; from where we stood on our bit of sand we 
could see the whole vast surface of yellow water mov¬ 
ing irresistibly onward. Huge trees, torn roots and 
all from the bank, were now being swept on the bosom 
of the stream as though they were but toothpicks. 
True, we were somewhat above the position of the 
boat, but not, I should say, over twenty yards; which 


46 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


meant that the swimmer must work towards the boat 
and against the current at the same time. Then, if 
he should fail to get to the boat, he would have to 
swim downstream for a mile or more perhaps ere he 
made the other shore. And considering how tired he 
would be after the struggle to reach the boat, and 
considering, too, the difficulty in landing among the 
branches and bushes of a new bank, to say nothing 
of the danger from the floating trees and masses of 
wrack, the odds were certainly against his ever at¬ 
taining the opposite shore alive. 

These thoughts, of course, rushed through my mind 
in a mere fraction of the time it takes to tell of them. 
Indeed, the peril of the swim I had seen at a glance. 
All the same I was still determined to make the haz¬ 
ardous venture. 

“No,” Ned replied; “I go now, and that’s an end 
of it.” 

“Then we both go,” I doggedly returned, and be¬ 
gan taking off my shoes. 

“Toss up for it,” suggested Hal brightly. 
“Here’s a stick.” He spat on one end. “Wet end 
goes.” 

He threw it up between us. It came down, stuck 
upright for an instant in the sand, and then fell over. 
The dry end pointed my way. 

“You see,” said Ned, and began struggling out 
of his shirt. 

Hal had gathered together whatever of our belong- 


NED SWIMS FOR THE “BIG CAT” 47 


ings the water had not reached, and these were few 
indeed: our blankets, the rifle, and the lantern we 
had luckily hung on one of the high roots near the 
sand bank. These were piled in the middle of our 
little island which at present covered a space not 
much larger than an ordinary dinner-table. The 
water had risen even since I had awaked. 

Ned turned and pointed to our possessions. 

“If I don’t make it, fellows, you’d better let this 
stuff go. Stay here as long as you can, of course. 
But if you see that the river is going to keep on ris¬ 
ing, you’d better take off your clothes and strike out 
for the other side. You’ll be drowned like rats over 
there in those woods.” 

And then, as he made ready to plunge into the 
swollen river, the full realization of the danger he 
was incurring struck him, I believe, for the first 
time. It was not that he said anything much; it was 
rather his manner that told me. He turned to us 
quietly and held out his hand. We took it, Hal and 
I, one after the other, and gripped it hard. 

“You’ll say a prayer when I’m swimming?” he 
asked, and his eyes were very grave. 

“Shucks,” said Hal, “you’ll make it all right.” 

Ned smiled. 

“Well, I’d better go.” He pointed to the boat. 
“Look how her old nose is buried down in the cur¬ 
rent. See her buck! There must be a terrific strain 
on that trot-line. Gee, it was sure a lucky thing we 


48 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


gave her that much rope last night. Well, here goes.” 

He waded straight upstream till the water was 
under his armpits. Even so, he had advanced but 
six or seven feet—just down the incline of our 
mound. Then he turned, smiling. 

“Big Cat or bust!” he cried, and struck out. 

It was a gallant fight he made. Hal and I, with 
heart in mouth, watched him every inch of the way. 

It had left off drizzling now, and the day was 
lighter. Plainly visible, the boat lay out on the 
stream just half the length of a football field away 
and at most some twenty yards below us. These 
twenty yards were the bare odds in Ned’s favor. 

How he swam! Plunging forward with the 
overhand stroke, he fought his way half against the 
current and half towards the opposite shore. One 
white arm would flash up and then the other; he was 
working with the precision of a machine and yet with 
the desperate energy of a human being battling for 
his own life and the lives of others. Sometimes when 
he took an unusually powerful stroke his shoulders, 
the muscles knotted by the struggle, would rise clear 
of the water; and the tawny current would froth and 
gurgle beneath his breast. And once, as he threw a 
glance backwards, I saw his black hair streaming in 
his eyes: but on his lips was the same brave smile. 

He was half way across now, and still a good ten 
yards above the prow. There was yet a chance of 
his reaching the goal! But, shifting my eyes for the 


NED SWIMS FOR THE “BIG CAT” 


49 


briefest moment, I saw a great mass of driftwood 
bearing down towards the boat. Then my gaze 
switched back to Ned. With the same strong strokes, 
betraying not the slightest sign of weakness, he was 
lustily stemming the yellow flood. I glanced again 
at the heap of brush; to my dismay I saw that it 
would cut in between Ned and the boat. Ned must 
have seen this too, for his arms came out of the water 
with redoubled energy and rapidity. It was no 
longer a question merely of his making the boat; he 
must make it ahead of that ominous mass of floating 
brush. 

He was swimming now in a kind of leaping frenzy. 
Once, as his right arm shot forward in the air, I saw 
his face, and on it was written the whole agony of 
the struggle. He was all but petered out; his gaping 
mouth showed his terrible exhaustion. . . . Five 
yards remained, and now he swam just even with the 
stern; and the nose of the brush-wrack was sliding 
past the prow. 

With a last supreme effort he almost lifted himself 
out of the water and strained forward to the swaying 
boat-end. One arm went up for the goal, but in the 
very act the boat veered slightly in the current, the 
arm fell back, and the fatal brush-wrack, floating by, 
swept from sight all trace of our brave and gallant 
comrade. 


CHAPTER VII 


ROUGH-HANDLED BY THE RIVER 

T E’S gone,” groaned Hal. 

tl “No look!” I cried. ‘‘The boat is-loose!” 

And so in fact it was. The tail of the brush-drift, 
swinging over, had struck the prow. The blow was 
slight, a mere push, but it had been sufficient to snap 
the already weakened trot-line. With a lilt upwards 
the boat had sheered half way round and was now 
floating behind the mass of drifting wood. 

But where was Ned? 

“Yes, he’s gone,” repeated Hal with a kind of 
moan. “The brush-drift’s got him.” 

Strain our eyes as we might, we could discern no 
sign of Ned on that yellow moving surface. He was 
sucked under the deadly drift and was now being 
whirled along, a lifeless corpse, beneath the flood. 

“Stay here, Hal,” I said; “I’ll swim for the boat. 
I can get it now; it’s loose. And maybe I can find 
some trace of Ned.” 

He answered nothing. I glanced at him: he was 
gazing anxiously out on the broad river, and tears 
were in his eyes; his face was white, and his mother 
lip quivered. 


50 


ROUGH-HANDLED BY THE RIVER 51 


In a trice I had off my clothes, and stood balancing 
myself for the plunge. And then I heard Hal give 
a great cry that was half a sob. 

“Oh! Oh there! Look!” 

I did look, and the sight made me shout for joy. 
Over the farther gunwale of the boat a white arm 
was clinging. 

“ He’s got her! He’s got her! ’’ Hal cried. “ He’s 
safe, Bert, he’s safe! ’ ’ 

I cupped my hands about my mouth and hallooed 
across the water. A faint cry came back in answer, 
and a moment later another arm was slung over the 
side of the boat; and then a black head appeared. 
Ned had reached the goal at last! 

But he was exhausted utterly. He had not 
strength enough to climb aboard. His head lay side¬ 
ways on the gunwale between his two arms; and we 
could see, even at that distance, that he was blowing 
as though his lungs must burst. / 

“He’s too weak to get in, Hal,” I said. “You stay 
here; I’m going after him.” And I plunged in. 

It was an easy matter, of course, to make the boat 
now. I was swimming downstream; in fact th$ dis¬ 
tance down was further than the distance across. 
Twenty yards or so from the boat I called out: 

“Hold on, Ned! I’m coming!” But I received 
no answer. 

A great fear suddenly laid hold of me. What if 
he had dropped from the boat’s side through sheer 


52 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


exhaustion! Six long strokes brought me up behind 
the stern, and I raised my head and looked over. 
Panting and shaking, Ned still clung to the gunwale, 
his head resting between his arms. 

“Hold tight, old man!” I cried. “I’m here!” 
And I drew myself over the stern and iAto the boat. 

It was a matter of only a few moments to haul him 
aboard. I placed him in the stern seat, took up the 
oars, fitted them into the locks, and started upstream. 

“How do you feel now, Ned?” I asked. 

He raised his head and smiled wanly, the kind of 
smile I have since seen on his lips when, all bruised 
and battered, he would walk off the gridiron after 
having smashed interference to pieces for sixty min¬ 
utes. His hair was in his eyes, and his face looked 
white and hollow. 

“Pretty well,” he answered. And then, after a 
pause, “I thought I was gone, Bert,” he added, and 
shuddered a little. • 

For a while neither of us spoke, and I pulled on up 
the river. The day was growing brighter now; the 
clouds were breaking up, and patches of blue sky, 
like jagged slabs of turquoise, began to appear. 
Presently the sun burst out, covering with his bril¬ 
liance the wide river and its green banks. I rested on 
my oars and looked up over my shoulder. It was 
towards ten o’clock of the morning, I thought. 

What a wonderful transformation the welcome 
sunlight wrought upon everything! My spirits rose 


ROUGH-HANDLED BY THE RIVER 53 


like a lark, and I heaved to on the oars with a will. 
Ned's color came back to his cheeks, and he fell to 
whistling a merry tune as though the dreadful inci¬ 
dent of five minutes ago had never occurred at all. 
The broad river shone like gold and moved along so 
smoothly and majestically in the fresh morning light 
that you would never suppose destruction and death 
lay at the ruthless heart of it. The trees along the 
flooded shore-line looked like tall, green and gold 
plumes as the sunbeams sparkled among their wav¬ 
ing tops and the water flowed evenly about their 
boles. 

Indeed, it was an odd sight to see the river so far 
back in the woods. It looked as if the trees had all 
run helter-skelter towards the water and had run so 
fast that when they came to the bank they couldn't 
stop but must go on till they got stuck in the bottom 
away out there and couldn't get back. 

I was just thinking of this when all of a sudden I 
heard Hal's voice shout out: “0 Bert, Bert! 
Hurry up!" 

I whisked around in my seat, but a wooded promon¬ 
tory cut off all sight of him. You see, we had drifted 
quite a quarter of a mile downstream before we be¬ 
gan to row back, and the current had carried us 
towards our shore and in behind this head of trees. 
I couldn't imagine what the trouble might be, but I 
bent to my oars nevertheless harder than ever. Ned 
shouted that we were coming, and called my strokes, 


54 DOUBLE-EAGLES 

and gave me directions now and then to avoid the 
driftwood. 

Before we rounded the point of trees Ned must 
have spied Hal, for he uttered a sharp cry and his 
eyes lighted with excitement. 

“Don’t turn to look, Bert,” he cried. “Pull, pull 
like the dickens! I’ll tell you what’s the matter. 
More on your left! More on your left! “You’ll hit 
these last trees! . . . There now, on your right, hard! 
Hard! Now straight! . . . Hal’s standing ankle- 
deep in water. You can’t see any land at all. It 
looks like he’s standing on top of the river. (We’re 
coming, Hal!) He’s got the blankets under one arm 
and our clothes under the other. ... Yes, and he’s 
got the rifle and the lantern too! Lord! I hope the 
river doesn’t wash that mound away before we get 
there. (Hang on to our clothes, Hal, as long as you 
can! But if the mound goes, drop everything!) 
There’s a log! On your left, Bert, quick! . . . All 
right, straight! Hard now, only fifteen more yards! ” 

And then, as I strained at my oars, I heard Hal 
cry, “She’s going, fellows!” I looked into Ned’s 
face as I bent forward for a stroke; his whole being 
was concentrated in his gaze. I couldn’t resist the 
temptation; I glanced over my shoulder upon the 
backward swing; and what I saw transfixed me with 
amazement. 

Hal, his arms filled with blankets and clothes, and 
in his hands the rifle and lantern, was standing as 


ROUGH-HANDLED BY THE RIVER 55 


by a miracle knee-deep on the surface of the broad 
waters. But all as I looked I saw that he was sink¬ 
ing. Dragging on my oars again, I heaved back and 
with the tail of my eye caught sight of him just as 
the yellow flood closed over his head. 

My breath was coming in gasps now. It had been 
a terrific pull up against that current. Yet I worked 
on. Ned was bending forward, his hands clutching 
the sides of the boat. 

“There he is!” he suddenly cried. “On your left, 
Bert! This way, Hal! . . . Lord, he’s under again! 
What’s the matter with him? cramps, or what? . . . 
Ship oars, Bert!” And Ned stood up in the boat, 
ready to dive to Hal’s rescue. 

I had just got the oars in when Hal’s head pops up 
not six feet to our right. He still had his cap on, and 
was spluttering and blowing hard; and in his eyes 
was a look of mild reproach. 

“If you fellows don’t help me,” he gasped, “I’ll 
have to drop this stuff!” The plucky little rascal 
was treading water and hadn’t let go of a thing! 

Ned leaped in and caught him under the arm. 
Then I reached them an oar, and after a difficult time 
both at last got aboard. Sure enough, Hal had our 
three blankets, our clothes, the lantern, and the rifle. 
Once more we were all together in the good ship Big 
Cat. 

“Now,” said Ned, “the first thing to do is find out 
how much of our outfit is left.” 


56 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“No,” said Hal, “the first thing to do is to see if 
we have any matches; and if we have we ought to put 
'em on the seat here to dry. It would be pretty 
tough without a fire.” 

Of course, it didn’t occur to any of us to throw 
up the cards and make our way over to Fairdale. 
We had been swamped completely; practically all 
our belongings were gone, and we had no food. But 
such minor difficulties didn’t bother us; we had a 
boat, and the river still ran to Valley Junction. 

Acting on Hal’s suggestion, we searched our clothes 
and found in all thirty matches. Hal must have 
counted them, I think, or I shouldn’t remember the 
number so well. We laid them out carefully on the 
bow thwart so that the sun’s rays fell on them, and 
then took stock of the things we had left. 

In our clothes, besides the matches, we had found 
Ned’s pocket-book, which contained our railroad fare 
from Valley Junction to the city, together with an 
extra fifty cents. But money couldn’t help us now, 
as Hal wisely remarked; nor could Ned’s diary-book 
and lead pencil. The only really useful article we 
took from our pockets was my stag-horn hunting 
knife, which was indeed a veritable godsend. In the 
boat we found our other trot-line—the one we hadn’t 
set out—some sixty snoods, and the dip-net. This 
completed the extent of our possessions; alto¬ 
gether, then, we were reduced to pretty narrow 
straits. 


ROUGH-HANDLED BY THE RIVER 57 

‘ ‘Gee/’ said I despondently, “we haven’t got much 
left.” 

“Not much left!” Hal exclaimed. “Why, we got 
lots and lots! We got a trot-line, haven’t we? and 
our boat and dip-net? What more do you want? 
When John Roodamoot goes fishing he only has a 
chew of tobacco!” 

I didn’t say anything, but it seemed to me that 
even John Rudemuth must have cut a pretty sorry 
figure under the circumstances. And when I say 
that, I have put the extremity of our condition in the 
strongest way I know. 

“Oh, look here!” cried Ned, and reached down to 
the floor of the boat; “here’s your meat-hook, Bert. 
Lord,” he derided, “what’d you expect to catch with 
it, whales or sharks?” 

“Might come in handy,” said I. “No use throw¬ 
ing it away. We’d ’a’ been glad enough to have that 
big fellow hanging on it last night; he wouldn’t ’a’ 
got off that hook.” 

“No,” said Hal, “’cause he’d never’v’ got on it.” 
And then, after a pause, “Gee!” he sighed, “that 
was sure hard luck to lose all our fish. I guess a 
log must ’a’ broken the string of the bag. If we only 
had our fish I wouldn’t care if the darn’ river’d ’a’ 
washed us clean to the moon.” 

“Well,” said I, “no use crying over spilt fish.” 

“But they aren’t spilt,” he urged. “They’re all 
shut up in that bag. That’s the worst of it.” 


58 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Oh, there’s lots more where those came from,” 
comforted Ned cheerfully. “Say,” he added, on a 
more serious note, ‘ ‘ are there any more bullets in that 
rifle? Hand her here, Bert. I’ll see; you go on and 
row.” 

Taking the gun, he carefully ejected five cartridges. 

“Gee,” said I, “only five bullets left, and to think 
we had two hundred of them!” 

Ned looked at them in the palm of his hand. 

“We can’t waste a single one of ’em,” he warned. 
“We got to make every one count. We’ll have to 
trim a wooden ramrod too to clean her with. Soon 
as my shirt’s dry I’m going to wipe her good. She’s 
full of water.” 

“Well,” I suggested, “let’s land somewhere along 
here. We’ve got to dry everything and clean out 
the boat.” 

“We can’t land here,” piped up Hal from the 
prow. “It’s all flooded on both sides. We’ll have 
to wait till we get to those hills down yonder.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


NED SHOOTS ONE OF OUR FIVE BULLETS 

I T was as Hal had said. The country on either 
hand was flat bottom-land, covered far back with 
water. Further to the south—about three miles, 
perhaps—extended a range of thickly wooded hills 
against which the river broke, apparently at right 
angles, and turned eastward; at least, so I judged. 

We had now left Whalen’s Bluff over a mile behind 
us and, following the middle of the stream, were be¬ 
ginning to veer a little to the left. On that side of 
the river the shore, though flat, was heavily wooded, 
with the overflow gleaming between the trees. 

The day was growing towards noon, and the sun 
blazed down pitilessly out of a cloudless sky. Of 
course we had long ago put on our clothes; and by 
this time they were almost dry. 

The river being so high and our boat going with 
the current, there was no danger either from snags 
or drifting wood. It was easy rowing, too; all I did 
was to keep her nose downstream and take a leisurely 
stroke now and then; the current did the rest. 

The river was everywhere. Sometimes, as we 
passed a particularly low-lying stretch of land, we 
seemed to be in the middle of some vast lake; except 
59 


60 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


for the current you wouldn’t know it was a river at 
all. Sometimes, again, when there were woods on both 
sides of us, we could see the water shining far down 
the green alleys. And once in a while we would hear 
a tree crash down, and the sound of it was a dull 
roar. 

The hills were looming larger now, and presently, 
as we rounded the next curve, we came in sight of 
what looked like a great dam. Over against us a hill 
rose sheer from the edge of the water, and in front 
of it lay, seemingly, a broad lake. Only the line of 
floating brush and foam, which marked the current, 
would have told you that it was in reality a swollen 
stream. As we approached nearer we heard the loud 
murmur of the river as it turned abruptly and swept 
along the base of the hills. The trend of it was east¬ 
ward, as I had surmised. For about two miles, per¬ 
haps, you could follow the gleaming surface of the 
water; and then it deflected northward, being swung 
in that direction by the curve of the hills. 

These observations I had ample time to make as we 
crossed the river to the foot of the hill: it was upon 
this hill we had decided to camp. 

We landed at a rather steep place and securely 
moored our boat. To our left was a shoulder of rock, 
about six feet high, with some scrub-oak growing in 
its crevices and an ash sapling. By the look of it I 
could tell that it must have stood much higher from 
the water when the river was normal. 


NED SHOOTS ONE OF OUR BULLETS 61 


We unloaded our goods (not much, to be sure) and 
then began to reconnoitre for a suitable place to 
pitch camp. As luck would have it, we bad not 
climbed sixty feet up the face of the hill when we 
came upon as likely a spot as you could wish. It was 
a little limestone grotto, deep enough to shield the 
three of us‘and high enough to allow of our standing 
upright, at least at the mouth. Out in front pro¬ 
jected a platform of rock upon which we might build 
our fire and move about. Altogether, it was an ideal 
shelter, as snug and comfortable and clean, too, as 
ever fell to the lot of three swamped and dog-weary 
boys. 

It was the work of only a few minutes 10 transfer 
our meager belongings to our new-found camp. 

“But the blankets,” Ned reminded us; “we’ve 
got to dry those blankets. ’ ’ 

Though pretty well tuckered out—what with our 
morning’s experience and our empty stomachs—we 
each took his blanket and set out higher up the hill 
to find a sunny spot among the thick trees. Luck 
favored us again, for we shortly discovered several 
great boulders lying in a natural clearing. As we 
drew near, a number of shiny bottle-green lizards that 
were basking in the sun darted helter-skelter to their 
nests in the chinks and seams. We laid out our 
blankets on the boulders, which were hot enough to 
fry eggs, and returned to our grotto. 

“And now,” said Ned, seating himself on the floor 


62 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


of stone, with his back against the side of the cavern, 
“ we ’ll have to call a council of war. What are we 
going to eat?” 

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Hal, “that’s right! We 
haven’t got a thing to eat!” 

“I hope that’s not the first time you’ve thought 
of it,” said I. “I been thinking of it all morning. 
I could eat shoe leather right this moment.” 

“Well,” said Ned, “there’s nothing ripe I know 
of: blackberries, raspberries, paw-paws, may-apples, 
wild grapes—they’re all green.” One would think, 
by the way he spoke, that all these fruits grew in his 
private garden on top of the hill. 

“And there’s no use fishing either,” gloomed Hal. 
“We won’t get a bite till the river begins to fall. 
Besides, we haven’t got any bait.” 

“Well, we’ve got a gun and five bullets,” I sug¬ 
gested. “Can’t we shoot a squirrel or something? 
I’ll eat him raw.” 

Hal shook his head. 

“I’m against using up those bullets,” said he. 
“You can’t tell what’ll happen. We oughtn’t to use 
the gun till we’ve tried every other way.’* 

“But Lord, Hal,” I objected, “there isn’t any 
other way. What do you think, Ned ? ” I added, with¬ 
out turning my head. 

There was no response. I looked around. 

Ned was sound asleep in the shade of the grotto, 
his head pillowed on his arm. Though mortal hun- 


NED SHOOTS ONE OP OUR BULLETS 63 


gry, I too felt sleepy. The day was extremely warm, 
and the cool interior of the recess invited to slumber. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Hal,” said I. “Suppose 
we take a nap too; well be able to watch better to¬ 
night. Then, after our sleep, we’ll forage the 
hill. And if it comes to the worst well use the 
rifle.” 

“Go ahead and turn in,” said he. “I don’t feel 
sleepy right now.” 

I stretched out on the cool stone floor of our little 
cavern and gazed drowsily forth through the opening 
upon the hot afternoon. Just before the mouth of the 
grotto a silver tangle of gossamer was floating in the 
air. I watched it for a while as it waved to and fro, 
and the very watching of it made my eyes heavier. 
Beyond the silken filaments I could see the green 
leaves of a maple-tree checkered by broken shafts of 
sunlight. And once, as I closed my eyes and opened 
them again, a cardinal flashed through the boughs 
and disappeared. And then, just before I fell asleep 
for good, I saw Hal take a piece of paper from his 
pocket and spread it out in the sunshine upon the 
platform. 

When I opened my eyes again the platform was 
all in shadow, and the sunlight was no longer among 
the maple leaves. Hal was lying flat on his chest, 
his heels in the air, poring over the same bit of paper. 

“WHhat you got there?” I asked. 


64 


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He hastily folded the sheet and thrust it into his 
pocket. 

4 4 Oh, nothing, ’ ’ he answered. 4 4 Come, it’s near six 
o’clock, I think. We’d better be finding something 
to eat.” 

I rose to my feet, and, with the movement, my 
head went round a little so that I must support my¬ 
self against the wall of the grotto. I was rather 
frightened; it was the first time in my life that I had 
been dizzy from hunger. 

44 What’s the matter?” asked Hal, looking up. 

44 Hunger,” said I. 44 It went to my head. I’m all 
right now.” 

We roused Ned. When he stood up he reeled a 
little too, just as I had done. 

44 Tighten your belts a notch, fellows,” said he. 
44 Where’s the gun? We can’t starve. We’ve got to 
shoot something before nightfall.” 

The three of us were standing out on the platform. 
Below us through the trees the river was glowing far 
and wide in the evening light. The sun stood away 
over on our left; we judged it to be after six. 

In single file we clambered up the hill. When we 
reached our blankets we found them quite dried out. 
They were very warm too; so warm in fact that the 
lizards had crept out again to lie upon them. You 
should have seen the wee beasties scurry off at our 
approach. We folded the blankets then and, all eyes 
on the lookout for game, resumed our ascent. 


NED SHOOTS ONE OF OUR BULLETS 65 


We gained the summit without so much as starting 
a sapsucker. There didn’t seem to be a single bird 
in the vicinity, let alone a squirrel or a rabbit. And 
all about us were trees too: oak and maple and ash 
and hickory and three or four tall-spired pines. 
Among the boles sumac and hazel bushes grew thick 
and high, screening our view of the country beyond. 

In silence we started along the level crest of the 
hill, walking as softly as we could on the carpet of 
twigs and dead leaves. We had not gone far when 
we came out into a bit of a clearing and were enabled 
to take a sweeping view of the whole land to the 
south. On the extreme horizon were hills, a blue line 
of them from east to west. The intervening country 
was broken up by a series of lesser hills and heavily 
wooded valleys. There was not a trace of a house or 
a field: only a vast wilderness as far as the eye could 
reach. 

I shifted my gaze from the prospect and looked 
down the hillside. There, to my surprise, not thirty 
yards away, stood a small dog, his right forepaw 
raised and his head cocked our way. Back and sides 
of a reddish brown that shaded off into a light gray 
near the belly, a long bushy tail with a white tip—al¬ 
together, he was a quite handsome dog. A sort of 
collie, I thought. 

“Look, Ned,” I said. “There’s a dog!” 

But as I uttered these words the animal whisked 
behind a sumac and disappeared. 


66 


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“Dog!” cried Ned. “Do you know what that was? 
It was a red fox! I told you this place was wild!” 

“He was tame enough at any rate,” said I. 

“We were so still,” Ned explained; “that was the 
reason. You noticed how he jumped when you spoke. 
Golly! if I’d only got a shot at him!” 

“Sh-h-h!” warned Hal, and pointed up at a maple 
to our left. “There’s a big fat yellow-hammer. I 
can see him from here.” 

But just then something slid through the air, cast¬ 
ing a shadow along the wall of greenery in front of 
us. We turned in time to see a quail sail silently 
down the hillside and alight on the branch of a tree 
in plain view. 

“That’s better game,” whispered Ned excitedly. 

“He’s too far away, Ned,” Hal objected. “Fifty 
yards if he’s an inch. Better take the yellow-ham¬ 
mer.” 

“What! an old yellow-hammer when we’ve got a 
chance for a quail!” 

“But we haven’t any bullets to waste,” Hal per¬ 
sisted. “If you miss—” 

The quail flew off without a sound. 

“There you are!” cried Ned angrily. “He’s gone! 
Well, where’s your darned old yellow-hammer?” 

“There he is,” said I, who had kept my eye on him. 
“He’s hopped up a couple of feet. Here, you can 
see him right through this opening—against that 


NED SHOOTS ONE OP OUR BULLETS 67 


limb. There, he’s hopped again. . . . All right, 
there’s a peach of a shot.” 

Ned raised the rifle, cuddled the butt into his 
shoulder, took careful aim, and fired. 

There was a rustling noise up among the leaves; 
and directly after the yellow-hammer plunged out of 
the tree and flew away across the valley. 


CHAPTER IX 


A NOCTURNAL. VISITOR 


S AID I: “There goes our supper/’ 

Said Hal: ‘‘ Four bullets left. ’ ’ 

Ned, disgruntled, ejected the empty shell. 

Said he: “She needs cleaning/’ 

Without a word more we began to retrace our steps 
along the hilltop. Suddenly, ere we had gone thirty 
paces, I trod on something that felt hard and round 
even through the sole of my shoe. I stooped and 
plucked it out of the grass. It was a brownish black 
sphere with a hard, pitted surface. 

“Hello!” said I, holding it up; “isn’t this some 
sort of a nut?” 

Hal looked at it. 

“Walnuts, by thunder!” he cried, and glanced up 
over his head. “Yep, this is a walnut-tree all right! 
There ought to be a lot of ’em here on the ground. 
Last year’s nuts, and all dried up mos’ likely; but 
they’re better’n nothing.” 

Sure enough, we found plenty around under the 
leaves and grass; and filled our three hats with them 
and crammed our pockets. With spirits considerably 
perked, we descended the hill to our camp. 

68 


A NOCTURNAL VISITOR 


69 


“Now,” said Ned, “IT1 whittle a ramrod if you 
fellows crack the nuts. We’ve got to clean this rifle; 
we can’t afford to have her miss again.” 

I thought maybe it wasn’t altogether the fault of 
the rifle, but I didn’t say anything; and Hal and I 
fell to cracking nuts. About half of them were dried 
up completely; a fourth were mouldy and inedible; 
but the remainder would do us in the pinch. It was 
certainly the skimpiest supper I ever ate, and when it 
was over I could have sat down successively and with 
equal appetite to three civilized suppers. And even 
then, I suppose, I should have still been hungry. 

However, the nuts were something. We smacked 
our lips and wiped our mouths and said the supper 
was pretty good after all, and that we felt a great 
deal better. It was an heroic piece of make-believe 
(my part of it was, I am sure, at all events) ; and I 
know that not one of us would have admitted for an 
instant that he wasn’t very much refreshed by our 
slender repast. 

Well, when supper was over, and the shells—not 
dishes—cleared away, we fetched in a deal of 
wood from the hillside and stacked it on one end of 
the platform. Then we spread our blankets on the 
clean dry rock within the grotto and told ourselves 
that this would make a better sleeping-place than a 
tent, which, to be sure, was the truth. 

We sat and talked for a while, and presently the 
sun, which had been hanging like a great golden bub- 


70 


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ble over the western hills, dropped below the horizon: 
and at his going a sudden change came over the face 
of things. A wind sprang up and murmured lone- 
somely through the trees; they were shuddering, it 
seemed, at the approach of night. Below us on the 
river the shadows deepened visibly, and the woods 
on the opposite shore merged into a dark indistin¬ 
guishable mass. The upper air still glowed with a 
rosy light; but, even as we watched, it began percep¬ 
tibly to wane. And then, of a sudden, a chill came 
over us sitting there in the gathering twilight. 

Ned jumped up. 

“A fire, fellows/ ’ said he briskly. And a few 
minutes later we had a merry blaze a-going on the 
platform of the grotto. The cheerful firelight, danc¬ 
ing on the rock walls of the cavern, made our snug 
little den look all the more home-like and inviting. 
We gathered about the crackling flames and discussed 
how we should pass the night. We came to the con¬ 
clusion that it would be safer to keep a watch, and 
accordingly divided up the time as we had done the 
night before. Only now I was first, Hal second, and 
Ned third. As we were not fishing we decided to 
turn in pretty early. 

“But first,” said Ned, pulling out his diary-book, 
“I want to jot down the day’s adventures. Hand me 
the lantern, Hal.” 

Pushing up the globe, he lit a twig at the fire and 


A NOCTURNAL VISITOR 


71 


held it to the wick. There was a sharp sputtering, 
but no flame. He shook the lantern impatiently. 

“What’s the matter with this oil?” he wondered. 

“I know,” said Hal, right ready. “It’s full of 
water. You may as well throw the lantern away 
for all the good it’s going to do us now.” 

Ned set it aside. 

“Oh, well,” said he, and stretched out towards the 
firelight with his book before him on the rock. 

He scribbled away for fifteen minutes or so, while 
Hal and I sat silent, looking down the darkening hill¬ 
side. At length he left off his writing, shut his note¬ 
book, and said he was going to bed. Hal followed 
suit, leaving me all alone on the platform. I arose 
and got the rifle, and then sat down with my back 
to the face of the grotto. 

It was become quite dark now, although the mil¬ 
lion stars glowing in the heavens shed a sort of faint 
lustre upon the night. Peering out through the trees 
at the broad expanse of bottom in front of me, I was 
enabled by the starshine to distinguish the sprawling 
course of the river. And darker against the dark 
background of the lowlands bulked frequent bosks 
or thickets. But round about me on the hillside was 
pitchy gloom. Outside the circle of firelight I could 
see nothing; and the edge of the platform beyond the 
leaping flames might have been the edge of the bot¬ 
tomless pit or the end of the world. 


72 


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But suddenly, as I sat there with my eyes on the 
glowing coals, a kind of brightness fell about me that 
was not the brightness of the fire; and looking up, 
I saw something big and silvery hanging low behind 
the eastern hills, and knew that the moon had risen. 
I watched it as it rose, and presently it had left the 
earth and was floating in the sky; though it stood 
like a balloon that might have been hauled back again. 

With this new radiance the whole country before 
me was covered. The river gleamed like a broad belt 
of jet, with glints of silver; and here and there were 
uneven edges that marked the flooded fields. The tops 
of the great cottonwoods, swaying in the night air, 
sparkled brightly, and even on the low-lying brakes 
of tangled brush rested the pale glimmer of moon¬ 
beams. 

My watch wore on. Now and again I would lay 
another stick or two on the fire and then resume my 
seat against the rock. I wasn’t afraid of repeating 
my slip of the night before, as now I was 
not in the least sleepy, owing to my nap in the after¬ 
noon. I lengthened my watch a little, I suppose, 
though of course I wasn’t certain of it, there being 
no timepiece at hand. At last, however, I awakened 
Hal, and crawled back into the grotto, and folded 
my blanket about me. It was eleven o’clock or some¬ 
what later, I thought. 

From the first my sleep was disturbed by dreams. 
Weird, chimerical images flitted across my mind, 


A NOCTURNAL VISITOR 


73 


which I don’t recall now but which, at all events, 
awoke me twice as I pitched and tossed on my stone 
bed. At last there came a dream more hideous than 
any that had gone before. I recollect it now, vividly. 
I seemed to myself to be lying just where I was, 
within the grotto, but a strange and horrible gloom 
was enveloping me. A blackness worse than night 
was closing in, and as I strained my eyes in the in¬ 
tense dark I saw to my horror that the curved roof 
above me was descending slowly. There was no 
escape. The mouth of the grotto was obstructed by 
this impenetrable wall of gloom, and besides, when I 
tried to move, I found that I was unable to stir hand 
or foot. Lower and lower sank the roof. I might 
have reached it now with my hand. I strove to cry 
aloud, to shriek my terror into the ears of night; but 
my tongue clave to my palate. And now the rock 
was touching my forehead; cold and clammy and 
sickening was the feel of it. Two seconds more, and 
my skull must split and crush. And at the thought 
I woke and screamed aloud. 

But I did not scream alone. In the same second 
almost there came, like an echo, an answering scream, 
and I sat up and looked forth upon the platform. 
The sight that met my eyes struck the breath quite 
out of me. 

In the checkered moonlight (for the fire was only 
a bed of waning embers) I saw Hal cowering against 
the corner of the cavern wall, his two eyes wide with 


74 


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sudden fear. On the platform near the fire lay the 
rifle, and beyond crouched a wild beast, dark and 
menacing, that looked as big as a tiger. Its head 
was down between its paws, and its eyes burned like 
two points of fire. Its back was arched a little, and 
in the moonlight I could see its long tail lashing 
about. In the split second in whicfy my eyes took in 
this scene my ears heard a sharp grating sound, and 
I knew that the brute was clawing the rock for his 
spring. In the remaining portion of that same sec¬ 
ond I had whipped out my hunting knife and risen to 
my knees. The next instant the beast and I sprang 
together. 

I met him in full career. His forepaws, striking 
my two shoulders, flung me back against Hal; but in 
the act I had plunged my knife into his throat. For 
a moment his savage jowls hung before my face, and 
then with a roar of pain he fell at my feet. But I 
am not sure whether he wouldn’t have been more 
than a match for us yet, had he not fallen on the edge 
of the platform and dropped to the ground below. 

We listened, breathless. Was he dead, or only 
wounded and crouching for another spring? We 
could not tell, for we heard no sound in the unearthly 
silence save the mad beating of our hearts. 

“What’s all the rumpus?” asked a sleepy voice 
behind us. 

Startled, I whisked about. Ned was standing at 
the entrance of ^the grotto, with his fists in his eyes. 


A NOCTURNAL VISITOR 


75 


“We just had a go with a catamount/’ said I. 

“Or a tiger,” said Hal. 4 ‘He’s right down there!” 

Ned was wide awake now, I can tell you. 

“A catamount! Right down there! Oh, come, 
you’re dreaming.” 

At that moment, on the hillside above us, a loud 
cry, half roar and half moan, went quavering on the 
night; and the sound of it was hideous. 

“There he is,” said Hal, a tremble in his voice. 

“That’s some sort of an animal all right,” Ned 
admitted. “But are you fellows trying to string 
me?” 

“Look here,” said I, “if you don’t believe me,” 
and I held out my knife. The blade was still drip¬ 
ping, and across the back of my hand you could see 
a great spurt of blood. “If you don’t believe that,” 
I added, “look here.” And I pointed to my breast. 
On both sides of my coat, from shoulders to waist, 
the cloth was hanging in shreds. “His claws did 
that,” said I. 

Hal sprang forward. 

“Bert, you’re hurt!” 

“No,” said I, “my coat protected me. He didn’t 
get my flesh—at least not much.” And this indeed 
I found to be the case. There were only a few slight 
scratches on my breast. (I may add here, in paren¬ 
thesis, that I still retain in my possession that very 
coat and knife as souvenirs of my hand-to-hand en¬ 
counter with a catamount.) 


76 


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“Gee whiz,” said Ned wistfully, “to think what I 
missed! Here, we’ll get the fire a-going, and you 
tell me all about it.” 

There was no more sleep for us that night, as you 
may suppose. Again and again I must recount the 
incident for Ned’s benefit, adding a detail or two 
each time, some forgotten and some invented; and 
always supplemented in my narrative by remarks 
from Hal. 

Hal, by his account, had fallen asleep just as I 
had done the night before. He must have been sleep¬ 
ing a goodish time, for the fire had almost burned it¬ 
self out. Then, on a sudden, he heard a terrible 
shriek (my shriek when I woke from the dream) and 
started up wide awake. Across the low-glowing coals 
he saw a huge animal crouching in the moonlight. 
Oblivious of the rifle, he sprang back against the rock 
and screamed through sheer terror. Then I had 
stepped upon the scene. 

Dawn was breaking ere we had satisfied ourselves 
upon all points of this remarkable and thrilling occur¬ 
rence. And even then we continued to talk for some 
time. At length, just as the treetops were turning 
rosy with the first rays of the sun, Ned got to his 
feet and stood gazing glumly down into the pale 
ashes of the fire. 

“Shucks,” he said, “it’s always my luck to miss 
the fun.” 


CHAPTER X 


NED SHOOTS ONE OF OUR FOUR BULLETS 

W ELL, of course, we hunted the hill for the 
catamount. But, save for some smears of 
blood on the side of the platform where he had fallen, 
we discovered no trace of him thereafter. I, for 
one, was willing enough to let him go; I didn’t care 
to behold again the sight of those bared fangs and 
cruel jaws. 

It was well along in the morning when we came 
to a halt on top of the hill in the spot where Ned (or 
the gun) had missed the yellow-hammer the day be¬ 
fore. Hal, who was behind us, uttered a sudden cry, 
and pointed down the hill towards the river. 

“Look, fellows, how the river’s fallen over night. 
We ought to be able to put in our line this afternoon.” 

We looked, and sure enough, what yesterday had 
been a wide flood was now so shrunk that you could 
easily distinguish the normal course of the river. De¬ 
tached bodies of water, like little lakes, lay gleaming 
here and there in the lower parts of the land. And 
along the track of the overflow you could see the 
weeds and even the smaller trees bent flat in the 
shining brown mud. At varying points great piles o£ 
77 


78 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


brush-wood towered up, like fantastic monuments 
built by the genii of the flood. 

And yet, though the river was fallen considerably, 
it was by no manner of means back at its customary 
height. There was still no sign of a gravel-bar any¬ 
where, and I made sure there must be one in the 
neighborhood of the hill. Besides, you could see the 
tops of sedge weeds pretty far out in the stream; and 
these, I knew, grew only near the shore. 

“She’s not all the way down yet,” said Hal. “By 
to-night—” 

But he didn’t finish the sentence. With a sort of 
groan he reeled forward a little and, before I could 
catch him, fell heavily upon the grass. 

Ned and I dropped to his side and tore open the 
collar of his flannel shirt. His face had gone as 
white as a fish’s belly, and he seemed scarcely to 
breathe. 

“Stay here, Ned,” I said; “I’ll go down to the 
river and fetch some water.” (I didn’t know what 
I was going to fetch it in; my hat, I suppose.) 

But as I spoke, Hal’s eyelids fluttered, and then 
gradually lifted. The color came slowly back to his 
face, and he sat up and looked around wonderingly. 

“What—what’s the matter?” he asked. 

“You’ve just fainted, Hal,” said Ned quite ten¬ 
derly. 

“Fainted! Me? Jiminy Chrismus! Why?” 

“You’re empty, that’s why,” I answered, and sat 


ONE OF OUR FOUR BULLETS 


79 


down. I was dead tired and all but fainting myself. 
“I’m empty too; so’s Ned. We’ve been so excited 
over this catamount that we’ve forgotten all about 
being hungry. But just think, we haven’t had a 
thing to eat since night before last!—except those 
blamed nuts, and they gave me the nightmare.” 

A kind of smile flickered on Hal’s lips. 

“A lucky nightmare, though,” he said. And then, 
“Gee, but I’m getting to be a regular baby,” he 
added shamefacedly; ‘ ‘ ’fraid of a catamount with a 
gun right in my hands, and then fainting and every¬ 
thing. ’ ’ 

Ned patted him on the shoulder. 

“Baby! I’d like to see the fellow that ’ud try to 
call you a baby! You’re as game as fish-hooks, Hal. 
People can’t help fainting any more’n they can help 
breathing. It just happens.” 

“And then that catamount,” I put in, “he took 
you by surprise. You didn’t have time to think.” 

Hal got unsteadily to his feet. 

“Gee, I feel funny. Everything’s kinda jumpy. 
Here, let me lean against this tree. . . . All right, I 
feel pretty good now. You fellows try and shoot 
something, and I’ll go back to camp.” 

We were going to assist him down the hill, and 
even started back with him along the summit; but he 
would have none of our help, saying he wasn’t so 
big a baby as all that. I was for bearing him company 
anyway, but Ned plucked me by the sleeve and gave 


80 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


me a meaning look; so I desisted. And together we 
watched him trudge stoutly off through the bushes, 
whistling a tune just to show how strong he really 
was. 

“Now let’s bag something,” said Ned with a lively 
air. 

“It’s high time we did,” said I dolefully. 

And indeed it was, as you may suppose. I felt 
like an animated dishrag, I was that hungry. And I 
made quite sure that Ned, for all his brisk manner, 
wasn’t feeling any better. The truth was, though we 
scarcely realized it then, the three of us were but a 
very little way from actual starvation. To be sure, 
we had the nuts, but those moldy, shrivelled things 
wouldn’t have kept a chipmunk alive. Then, there 
was the river; we might still fish. But the obstacle, 
of course, in that direction was lack of bait: we didn’t 
have the ghost of a worm or anything else. And as I 
told Ned, fish don’t swallow bare hooks just for the 
fun of it. 

Altogether, then, we were in sorry case. If we 
found nothing to shoot, or if we missed what we shot 
at, there was nothing for it but to fall back on the 
walnuts, and probably, I grimly owned, be poisoned. 
This prospect was gloomy, certainly, but prospects 
far gloomier loomed before my mind, and I was just 
on the point of stating them to Ned (who was a few 
yards ahead of me) when he halted abruptly and, 
without turning his head, held out his hand behind 


ONE OF OUR FOUR BULLETS 


81 


him signaling silence. I stopped in my tracks won¬ 
dering. 

We were down in the valley now, on the opposite 
side of the hill to the river. For some minutes we 
had been walking through a grove of lofty elm-trees 
interspersed rather thickly with low horse-chestnuts 
and paws-paws and dogwoods; and our way had been 
blocked more than once by a thorny tangle of berry 
bushes. High above, the long branches were lashing 
and grinding in a stiff breeze that blew from the west, 
and all around us on the ground the dead leaves were 
eddying about; and now and again, in a clearer space, 
would come whipping up into our eyes. 

Ned beckoned me to come nearer. 

4 ‘Listen to that,” he whispered. “It’s in front of 
us. You can hear it on the wind. What do you 
think it is ? ” 

I gave a close ear but heard not a sound, save the 
steady roaring of the summer gale through the myriad 
leaves of the grove. 

“I don't hear anything,” I answered at length. 

“Sh-h! there it is again.” 

Sure enough, I could detect it now: a quick suc¬ 
cession of peculiar sounds, somewhat like the gur¬ 
gling of water from a narrow-necked bottle, only 
much louder. Indeed, the sounds were so loud that 
I marveled I had not heard them before. 

“Easy now,” Ned whispered. “Maybe we'll see 
something beyond that patch of blackberry bushes.” 


82 


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Some few rods ahead of us, in an open area among 
the trees—a kind of glade it was—stood a dense 
covert of bushes and elm saplings. Crouching down, 
we went forward very softly. Once behind the bushes 
we endeavored to peer through to the other side, but 
our vision was obstructed by the thick foliage. We 
might have stood up and looked over, perhaps; but 
Ned, by a motion of his hand, checked that; and we 
crept along to the end of the brake. There Ned put 
out his head ever so cautiously, while I knelt behind 
him all a-tremble with excitement. 

“See anything?” I asked, in a voice that was more 
than a whisper. For my pains I received a sharp 
poke from his elbow. I kept silent. 

Then he craned his neck a few inches further, and 
just as I was going to look too, over his shoulder, 
back he jerks like a spring let loose. 

“What is it?” I asked, this time in a real whisper. 

‘ 1 Gee, take a look, 7 ’ he answered in the same voice, 
his eyes all aglow; “but be careful!” 

Not knowing what I should see, whether catamounts 
or wild Indians, I certainly was careful. At first I 
saw nothing but a long vista of level, leaf-strewn 
ground, with patches of green grass here and there, 
and over all the great arching trees. Then I peeped 
out a little further—two inches perhaps—and there, 
not twenty-five yards away, just beyond the gnarled 
base of an immense elm, three big birds were step¬ 
ping slowly about and pecking under the leaves. 


ONE OF OUR FOUR BULLETS 


83 


They were very handsome birds, one in particular 
that looked to be the male. His tail was spread fan- 
wise, just like a turkey’s; and when the sunlight 
struck it, it had a sheen like burnished bronze. His 
head and the upper part of his neck were devoid 
of feathers, the comb-like skin being of a dull crimson. 
A peculiar growth of the same color stood out from 
the top of his head, and from his breast hung a 
bunch of black hairy bristles, like a misplaced beard. 
These features together with his strutting made him 
look to me more and more like a turkey-cock. 

And then, as I was still peering out at them, the 
cock’s neck swelled oddly; he opened his beak a little; 
and again we heard the peculiar gurgling sounds. 

“Don’t you recognize it now?” Ned whispered in 
my ear. 

I drew back. 

“He looks like a turkey-cock to me,” I said. 

“Just what he is! They’re wild! That noise was 
the old gobbler! Lord-ee, if I can only hit him 
now! ’ ’ 

He lay on his side and softly thrust the rifle through 
the bushes. Working the barrel very gently, he grad¬ 
ually made an opening large enough to admit of his 
sighting the game. Then, as I crouched there watch¬ 
ing, I saw him grip the gun more firmly, settle his 
cheek against the stock, and take aim. 

And what a mortal time he was in aiming! It 
seemed five minutes to me, and all the while my heart 


84 


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was thumping so loudly I made sure the turkeys 
must hear it. Thoughts, mostly disjointed, shot like 
lightning through my mind. What a great thing, to 
be bagging a wild turkey! And how good he would 
be, broiled to a crisp brown with the tender white 
meat beneath! And there would be plenty of it too; 
all we wanted. We would come down the hillside 
holding aloft our turkey-gobbler; and how Hal’s eyes 
would widen with wonder and delight! Then my 
attention leaped back to Ned still lying there with 
his eyes screwed on the gun-sights. And as I looked 
at him, all of a sudden there flashed the thought that 
he might miss the turkey as he had missed the yellow- 
hammer; and I began with all my heart and soul to 
say the Hail Mary. When I had got as far as “now 
and at the hour,” crack! went the rifle, and a clash¬ 
ing racket of wings filled the air. 

“I’ve got him!” cried Ned, “I’ve got him.” 

I sprang to my feet half wild with joy and excite¬ 
ment, and dashed around the corner of the thicket. 
There, flopping about among the leaves, his great 
wings beating the ground helplessly, the big turkey- 
cock was making his last struggle. I grabbed him by 
the neck and held him. 

“She shot true that time, Ned,” I cried gleefully 
as he ran up. 

“Couldn’t miss,” he replied. “It was like shoot¬ 
ing at a barn door.” He stooped and lifted the tur¬ 
key. “Gee, he’s big and fat. Weighs twenty pounds 


ONE OF OUR FOUR BULLETS 


85 


if he weighs an ounce. Golly, just wait till Hal sees 
him!” 

With high hearts and bounding steps we hastened 
back to the foot of the hill and almost flew up to the 
top. Then, shouting and whooping for joy, we went 
crashing down the other side, breaking anyhow 
through the bushes and sending the loose rocks leap¬ 
ing among the trees. 

I was the first to spy Hall standing by the grotto 
and looking up the hillside in a great wonder. 

“We’ve killed a turkey, Hal!” I roared out, and 
held him aloft. 

Then, with renewed shouting, we tore on down the 
hill. Together we reached the platform; and throw¬ 
ing the big bird down upon the rock, I turned and 
looked triumphantly at Hal. He seemed surprised 
and happy, but there was more of happiness in his 
face than of surprise, I thought. 

1 ‘ That’s great! ” he said. 11 Gee! a real wild tur¬ 
key! . . . But I’ve found something better’n a wild 
turkey.” 

I could only stare at him, stupid. 

“What is it?” asked Ned, half defiantly. 

“I’ve found that treasure!” 


CHAPTER XI 
hal’s discovery 

N ED sat down suddenly on the platform and 
took off his hat. 

“That treasure!” he repeated, wondering: and 
there was a sort of peevishness, too, in his tone. 
“What treasure’s that?” 

Hal didn’t answer immediately; only looked at us 
with a quizzical and amused expression. (For my 
own part, I confess, I began to have an awful sus¬ 
picion that hunger was driving him out of his head.) 

At length, “Don’t you remember Jerry Bottom?” 
he said slowly, “and his friend Buck Webb, and Tom 
Crawford that they were going to kill ? ’ ’ 

Ned sprang to his feet, his face lighting with ex¬ 
citement and a hundred questions. 

“What!” he cried. “Were they hunting for a 
treasure after all ? Did you meet ’em ? Did you find 
the treasure ? Where is it ? ” 

“Well, no,” said Hal with a sort of twinkle in his 
eye. “I haven’t found the treasure yet. But I’ve 
found Tom Crawford. They’ve murdered him all 
right enough,” he added parenthetically. Then (and 
now I made sure poor Hal was crazy), “He told me 
where the treasure is hidden,” he concluded. 

86 


HAL’S DISCOVERY 87 

1 1 What the dickens is all this!” cried Ned, at his 
wit’s end. 

Hal reached down and took the turkey by the leg. 

“Not another word,” he said emphatically, “till I 
get something to eat. Gee, he’s a big fellow! Dibs 
on the tail feathers! Aren’t they beauts! ’ ’ 

“But look here, Hal,” Ned began. 

“Hal’s right, Ned,” said I. (My doubts as to his 
sanity had vanished now.) “Let’s cook our turkey 
and eat. Let the treasure go for a while. We got 
treasure enough right here. Hal, you pick him, and 
I’ll start the fire. Ned, here’s my knife. Cut some 
nice green spits—a lot of ’em. We’ll have to cook 
the whole of him now; we can’t keep him except he’s 
cooked. ’ ’ 

I got a roaring blaze a-going presently, and when 
I had packed in more wood from the hillside I crossed 
over to the brink of the platform to help Hal pluck 
the turkey. He had the tail feathers already laid 
apart, and he told me he was going to add them to 
his collection. 

Well, after we had plucked our turkey clean and 
singed him in the flames, I took my knife, slit him 
open and removed his inwards. As we couldn’t eat 
these, I was just about to heave them down the hill 
when a sudden idea struck me, and I put them care¬ 
fully aside; I would remove them later on to a cooler 
place. 

My, but he was a plump turkey! as plump as a 


88 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


chestnut, with big bulges of yellow fat along his breast 
and under his back. Sharpening my knife on the 
rock of the grotto, I set about carving him in por¬ 
tions which we might with least difficulty broil on the 
spits. 

I shall never forget the delicious fragrance that 
assailed our nostrils as the three of us sat around 
the fire, each holding his spit and watching his bit of 
turkey meat turn slowly from a livid raw color into 
a glistening juicy brown. The fat melted and fell 
sputtering into the coals but not without adding its 
share of flavor to the toasting delicacy. 

‘‘Gee, it smells good!” said Hal. “My mouth’s 
watering already. ... I think mine’s done,” he 
added suddenly, and held his piece before my eyes. 

“Better cook her a little more,” I advised; 
and half unwillingly he thrust it back over the 
flames. 

At length, however, our first portions were done 
to a turn. You should have seen us blowing and 
juggling them as we slipped them still sizzling from 
the spits. And then when we buried our teeth in 
the smoking pinkish-white meat, you should only have 
seen the smile on our faces. Oh, but that old bird 
was good! I don’t want to taste anything better! 

Well, we cooked and ate three pieces, one straight 
after the other; and Ned was for eating the whole 
turkey then and there. But Hal said we had best 
cook the rest and save it for supper, as we should be 


HAL’S DISCOVERY 


89 


sorry then if we were to gobble it all np now. This 
was the wiser counsel every way; so, after broiling the 
drumsticks and the back and the wings and what 
was left of the breastbone, we wrapped them up in 
Ned’s undershirt, which was pretty clean (all things 
considered), and laid them away in the grotto. 

It was a little after the noon hour now, and the 
platform was white with sunshine. Still, the day 
was not hot; a strong steady breeze from the west 
blew along the hillside, swaying the treetops with a 
kind of dull, roaring sound fit to lull a body to 
sleep. 

Ned stretched out on the cool rock floor of the 
grotto, with his hands clasped behind his head. 

“Gee,” said he, “I feel like the Prince o’ Wales. 
I wish we could bag a turkey every day.” 

“The best of it is,” said Hal, sitting down, “we 
got some left for supper. . . . Well,” he added, look¬ 
ing my way, “you fellows ready for the treasure?” 

Ned sprang like a jumping-jack to a sitting posture. 

“Great Caeser’s ghost!” he cried. “I forgot all 
about the treasure. Tell us everything, Hal, straight 
out.” 

As for me I was just as excited and interested as 
Ned, though, I own, I prefer my excitement and my 
interest to come on the top of a full stomach. 

“Well, in the first place,” said Hal, “you remem¬ 
ber the man we caught on the trot-line up at Wha¬ 
len’s? Well, that was Tom Crawford, all right.” 


90 


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11 That’s what I thought all along,” said I. 
“Didn’t I say when we fished him out, ‘Hal, I’ll bet 
this is Tom Crawford?’ But how do you know for 
certain he’s Tom Crawford!” 

Hal nodded his head. 

“I know all right. Ned, you remember that letter 
you found in his pocket and then threw away?” 

“Yes, but geewhilikens, that didn’t say anything 
at all.” Ned’s tone was rather crestfallen, I thought. 

“Well, I picked that letter up and kept it. It tells 
us everything, as plain as day.” Hal arose, went 
over to where his coat was lying on the blankets and 
came back with the identical piece of paper I had 
seen him poring over the day before. 

“Here it is,” said he, with a peculiar look. “Read 
it.” 

Ned took the letter and scanned it eagerly, I kneel¬ 
ing at his side and reading it with him. The writing 
was still pretty clear, although in spots the water had 
well-nigh obliterated some of the characters. 

“Read it out loud,” Hal suggested; “then you’ll 
see.” 

I glanced across at him; a furtive smile was 
lurking in his eyes. He had some joke up his sleeve, 
I suspected, and it was aimed at us. 

Ned shook his head; he was altogether at sea. 

“Darned if I can find anything in it,” he puzzled. 
“Well, here goes.” And he read again the following 
letter: 


HAL’S DISCOVERY 


91 


Dear Pal: 

Bad news and good. After I left you Sunday on 
Hunter’s road who should I meet driving along near the 
sandstone hill but the old man who owns the horse with 
the triple-star brand. I gave him your offer again but 
he blazed up fierce, slashed out with his whip at a scrub oak 
and said that he wouldn’t swap his little beauty for fifteen 
mares like yours. 

Later, I discovered he lives to the north of here—pretty 
far out in the hill country—some ten or eleven miles. I 
guess his farm must be just west of the White Fork Pike. 

Don’t leave till I come down. 

Yours truly, 

W. J. F. 

Ned looked up blankly. 

‘ 4 1 can’t make anything of it, ’ 9 he confessed. ‘ ‘ Can 
you, Bert?” 

I shook my head. 

Hal was laughing now, openly. 

“Don’t you remember, Bert,” he explained, “you 
said you heard Jerry Bottom say something about 
a cipher, and you didn’t know what a cipher was, 
and asked Ned, and Ned said it was a kind of secret 
writing? Well, I—” 

At Hal’s first mention of a cipher Ned’s nose was 
back in the letter as though he were bent on smelling 
out the secret. He raised a hand to check Hal. 

“Don’t tell us, Hal, don’t tell us!” he cried. “See 
if we can figure it out ourselves. Let’s see. . . . 
Let’s see.” 


92 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


We puzzled over the faded writing for some min¬ 
utes, but I confess I couldn’t make head or tail of it. 
It was just a plain letter, so far as I could see. 

‘‘Oh, I give it up,” said Ned at last, impatient to 
hear the sequel. “What is it, Hal?” 

Hal was standing up now, quite bursting with his 
revelation. 

“Just you read every eleventh word,” said he 
dramatically, “and you’ve got Jerry Bottom’s secret 
and the location of the buried treasure! ’ ’ 

Ned counted off the words, his voice shaking with 
excitement. 

“Hunter’s . . . hill . . . triple . . . blazed . . . oak 
. . . fifteen . . . north . . . ten . . . west . . . down. 
Gee-min-ently, Hal, but that’s slick!” he exclaimed 
in admiration, looking up. “How did you figure it 
out ? ’ ’ 

“Easy as rolling off a log,” replied Hal. “Be¬ 
sides gibberish, our club at school’s got a cipher too, 
only we don’t call it a cipher. Every fifth word 
makes sense in our writing; all the other words are 
just a jumble—not like this letter. Well, I tried our 
scheme, but it wouldn’t work. Then I went back and 
tried every second, third, fourth word and so on till 
I got to the eleventh. And that was the key.” 

“But where’s Hunter’s Hill?” said I suddenly. 

Hal nodded his head emphatically. 

“That’s what we’ve got to find out. And once we 


HAL’S DISCOVERY 


93 


know where Hunter’s Hill is, we’ve got to locate the 
oak with the triple blaze. It’ll be easy enough after 
that; we can get our bearings from the sun, and the 
numbers mean either feet or yards. We’ll try both.” 


CHAPTER XII 

THE DEAD COME TO LIFE? 

W ELL, as yon may suppose, we were wrought 
up to the very pitch of excitement by the 
hidden meaning of the letter which Hal had de¬ 
ciphered. For the rest of the afternoon we sat in 
the grotto, discussing our prospects of lifting the 
treasure and debating as to the course of action we 
should adopt. Ned was all for striking camp incon¬ 
tinently and pursuing our journey down the river till 
we discovered Hunter’s Hill. The odds were, he 
argued, that the hill lay somewhere along the river, 
else Jerry Bottom and his companion would not be 
trying to reach it by boat. Add to this, he said, that 
there were only two hills upstream that could possi¬ 
bly be the one where the treasure was buried. (This 
was quite true, as I remembered we had passed only 
two hills after we had overheard the memorable con¬ 
versation on the ledge. Of course there was Whalen’s, 
but that was one hill we might safely eliminate. Be¬ 
tween Whalen’s and our present location we had 
traveled through bottom-land, as the reader will re¬ 
call.) 

“Now that’s my way of it, fellows,” Ned con- 
94 


THE DEAD COME TO LIFE? 


95 


eluded, striking his knee with his fist. “Of course, 
we’re running the chance of one of those two hills up 
above being Hunter’s Hill. But I don’t think it is. 
And I’ll tell you why: Jerry Bottom and Buck Webb 
would never have gone clean back to Kimley, even 
for booze, if they had been so near the treasure. No 
sir-ee, Hunter’s Hill’s away down the river, I’ll bet, 
and what we’ve got to do is to beat ’em there, dig up 
the gold and make tracks.” 

“Gold!” I exclaimed. “How do you know it’s 
gold?” 

Ned leaned back against the cavern wall. 

‘ 1 Oh, well, ’ ’ says he, “ it’s treasure, isn’t it ? Same 
thing.” 

“That’s all well and good, Ned,” Hal struck in, 
“but how are you going to find Hunter’s Hill? 
There’s hundreds of hills along the river; how you 
going to find out which is Hunter’s?” 

“Ask,” replied Ned, as cool as you please. 

“Shucks,” said Hal. “Ask! Ask who? I haven’t 
seen a single person since we left Kimley except Jerry 
Bottom and Buck Webb.” 

“Well, what plan have you got then?” Ned de¬ 
manded a little warmly. 

Hal twirled his cap a moment in thought. Then 
he put it on his head again. 

“This,” says he. “Wait here. This is a good 
place to camp. Wait here and keep our eyes peeled 
for Bottom and Webb. Then when they pass by, 


96 


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we’ll follow them! And wherever they stop we’ll 
know that’s Hunter’s Hill. Or if they go away from 
the river we can follow ’em still. But it won’t be 
like hunting for a needle in a haystack; we ’ll be sure 
to find the right hill in the end. ’ ’ 

This scheme approved itself to my judgment, and 
I told Ned so. Nevertheless, he continued to argue; 
and it was only after a considerable time that he 
finally gave in, and very grudgingly at that. But 
in the event, as you shall see, it was by adopting his 
idea that we finally located the whereabouts of Hun¬ 
ter’s Hill. 

After we had settled our plan of action, we 
launched out upon the character and amount of the 
treasure: and here, as you may fancy, our imagina¬ 
tions carried us beyond “the wealth of Ormus and of 
Ind.” To my thinking, the cache would consist of 
big bars of gold and silver, with a plentiful sprinkling 
of diamonds and red rubies and pearls and other 
precious stones. Ned held out for gold pieces: no 
silver, only eagles and double-eagles; yellow boys, he 
said, that would chink in your pockets and, weigh 
them down, too. As to diamonds and such-like, he 
didn’t take much stock in jewels, he said; though, of 
course, he would be willing to pick them up if there 
were any lying about. Hal was the least sanguine 
of the three of us; by his account we should come off 
handsomely if we unearthed a paltry half dozen bags 
of nickels and dimes. But I imagine he said this, the 


THE DEAD COME TO LIFE? 


97 


sly rogue, in order to be the more delightfully sur¬ 
prised in the event. 

And so we went on talking almost in a frenzy of 
expectation, gilding hope with the fair hues from 
our treasure-trove. 

At length, chancing to look forth from the grotto 
in the direction of the west, I started to my feet with 
a cry of dismay. The sun stood less than thirty min¬ 
utes from the horizon. 

‘ 4 Come, you fellows!” I cried. “We’ve got to 
hustle if we want to do any fishing to-night. And 
we’ve got to catch some fish if we don’t want to starve. 
We can’t shoot a wild turkey every day.” 

“Lord,” said Ned, “we haven’t even got any 
bait! ’ ’ 

“You just leave that to me,” said Hal. “You 
and Bert put in the line, and I guarantee by the 
time you’ve finished I’ll have the bait ready.” 

That was a go; so Ned and I made our way down 
the hillside, leaving Hal upon the platform. I had 
no idea how he was going to get the bait; but get it 
he would, I didn’t doubt for a moment. 

When we reached the boat, lo and behold! it was 
hanging half out of the water to the tree around 
which we had tied the painter. I glanced at the bit 
of rock we had remarked when we first arrived, and 
now, wonderful enough, it was quite a formidable- 
looking blutf. You could easily see the high-^ater 
mark between five and six feet from the present sur- 


98 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


face. The river had fallen that much during the 
night and day. 

“Look,” said Ned, and pointed across the water. 
“There’s a part of a gravel-bar.” 

Sure enough, a strip of mud-washed gravel, some 
fifteen feet wide, showed at the edge of the flat-lying 
weeds on the right bank of the river. A drop of 
another six inches would reveal a wide sweep of bar; 
of this I made sure. 

“Well,” said Ned, loosening the painter, “the 
river’s not altogether down yet. She’ll fall the rest 
of the way to-night, I guess, and that ought to make 
swell fishing; if Hal only finds some bait.” 

I got in, and Ned manned the oars. 

“We’d better put her in where the river’s nar¬ 
rowest, ’ ’ said I; “ right up above here: from those 
woods over there to the gravel-bar. There’s a buried 
stump sticking up in the shallow water. We can tie 
her to that instead of taking her clean over to the 
bank. We’ve got to hurry too, Ned,” I warned. 
“That sun’s not got a quarter of an hour to run.” 

I buttoned up my coat. Though the cool summer 
gale that was blowing all day long had fallen dead 
an hour ago, the air was very chill, chillier even down 
here on the river than up on the hill. The chirping 
of innumerable insects had already begun, and now 
and then an early frog sang out his high tremolo. 
And once, as I lifted my eyes, I saw two doves flying 
across from the woods to the hilltop, and their wings 


THE DEAD COME TO LIFE? 99 

glistened like burnished gold in the long evening 
light. 

Well, when we got to the stump on the still flooded 
gravel-bar, I made one end of the trot-line fast; and 
then, ere we started across, we ran our eyes along the 
opposite shore to hit upon a likely place to tie the 
other end. The best spot, to our thinking, was just 
at the corner where the river turned to the east along 
the range of hills. Here, right upon the margin of 
the stream and at the base of a little bank, a hand¬ 
some silver birch stood up, its green branches hanging 
out over the river. On both sides of it the shore was 
thick with bushes and young willows, whose leaves 
showed yellow with the mud of the recent flood. 

To this point, then, we laid our course, Ned rowing 
and I paying out the line from the dancing ball at 
my feet. It was a stiff pull for Ned, as the current 
here was uncommonly swift, and the long arc of line, 
lying on the surface, dragged heavily. But we finally 
reached our goal without mishap; indeed, when Ned 
ran the boat’s nose aground we were several yards 
above the birch-tree; so that we must push off again. 
As the stern swung round, I grasped a limb of the 
birch, and, looping the line about my arm, drew my¬ 
self in until I could lay hold of the white trunk. 
Having gauged our slack so that the contrivance 
might hug the bottom, I secured the trot-line about the 
tree, cut off what remained (for I purposed to do a 
little fishing literally on my own hook) and then for 



100 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


the first time raised my eyes to the bank above me. 
And as I looked, my heart gave a sudden knock 
against my ribs, and the hair on my head began to 
creep. 

There, staring down upon me through a partial 
screen of muddy bushes, was the face of the man we 
had buried two nights before! 


CHAPTER XIII 


I SET OUT MY THROW-LINE 

F OR the interval of some breathless seconds I 
gazed up at it in a sickening dread. It was a 
horrid sight; even to-day the bare recollection of it 
almost gives me a qualm. 

“What’s the matter with you?” came Ned’s voice 
querulously from behind me. “What you looking 
at?” 

And then, before I could answer, a thing happened 
which I hope I may never witness again as long as I 
live. With a sudden movement the loathsome corpse 
threrw up both hands and lurched forward down the 
bank straight towards the boat. 

I am no coward, as the foregoing incidents in this 
narrative amply show, but when that grisly appari¬ 
tion descended upon me I confess I had a wild desire 
to fling myself into the river and swim for dear life. 
As it was, I recoiled a pace involuntarily; the boat 
canted over, shipping a bucket of water; and, “What 
the deuce is wrong?” cried Ned, trimming on his 
thwart. 

At that moment the dead body slid past the white 
101 


102 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


birch-tree, and, with its legs in the water, paused 
there a moment, for all the world as if it were a 
living man sitting at the river’s brink. 

“What’s wrong!” I answered. “Look!” 

But, even as I spoke the word, the hideous object 
slipped into the river almost beneath the boat and 
sank from sight in the yellow water. 

I turned and looked at Ned. His jaw was fallen, 
and his eyes were wide with horror. 

“What—what was that?” he asked. 

I took my seat again in the stem and grasped the 
trot-line, though it was little stomach I had for fish¬ 
ing in those waters then. 

“That was the man we buried up at Whalen’s,” I 
answered. “Looks as if he were following us, doesn’t 
it?” And I could not help shuddering a little at the 
thought. 

Ned still sat upright and motionless, his oars swing¬ 
ing heedlessly in the current. 

“But, good Lord! what was he doing there? He 
didn’t rise from his grave and come down here to 
sit on the bank and watch us. ’ ’ 

“No,” said I; “the river washed him down and 
lodged him up there behind the birch. Whatever 
was holding him must have given way suddenly. ’ ’ 

“Of course,” said Ned, relieved, and laid hold of 
the oars. Then, “But didn’t he look awful!” he 
added, and I saw the horror still upon his face. 

“Here,” said I, “you take the line and sit in the 


I SET OUT MY THROW-LINE 


103 


prow and fasten on the snoods. I don’t know the 
trick of it.” 

We fell silent then for some time while Ned 
tied on the hooks. Both of us were too shaken by the 
ghastly sight to talk much about it. We were think¬ 
ing of it, though (I know I was at any rate), and 
wondering what dire significance lay hidden in the 
fact of our being thus dogged by the dead man. We 
were in possession of his secret; was he pursuing 
us to claim it ? or did he wish to warn us against some 
unseen danger? to bid us cast his letter away and 
have nothing to do with this unhallowed treasure? 

Foolish thoughts these were, I suppose; mere fan¬ 
cies born of my sudden fright. And yet, as 1 sat 
there upon the surface of the darkling waters, with 
the daylight fading around me and the night wind 
beginning to sough through the trees on either shore, 
I could not throw off this sense of impending ill nor 
rid myself of the suspicion that the vision of the dead 
man had been a warning of it. And, as events will 
show, this premonition was only too truly verified. 

We had not quite reached the middle of the line 
when, lifting my eyes from the darkening canyon of 
the river, I saw the treetops away up on the summit 
of the hill glittering like gold-foil in the last streams 
of sunlight. And then, as I yet looked, the bright¬ 
ness waned and disappeared, leaving the trees a 
blotch of blackness against the glowing sky beyond. 
Before Ned had done looping on the snoods, hill and 


104 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


river and the low-lying woods on the other shore were 
equally shrouded in the gathering glooms of twilight. 

Ned dropped the last hook over the side and came 
back for the oars. 

“We’ve got to hurry now,” said he, “if we want 
to get the bait on before night sets in for good. We 
haven’t got any lantern, you know, and it’ll be quite 
a while before the moon comes up.” 

‘‘ I wonder, ’’ said I, “if Hal got any bait. 0 Hal! ’ ’ 
I called, and my voice echoed uncannily from the 
woods on the opposite shore. I called again, and 
presently an answering shout sounded from the hill¬ 
top. “He’s been hunting for it, at least,” I said. 

The prow crunched in against the bank, and we got 
out and stretched; it is a cramping business to sit in 
a boat for over an hour. Hal was coming down the 
hillside now; we could hear the snapping of twigs 
and the sliddering of loose rocks; and every now and 
again one would come bouncing down and plump 
into the water beneath us. 

“Did you get any bait?” I cried. 

“Yeah,” he answered. “Good uns. If I don’t 
spill ’em all before I get there.” 

Presently he reached the bottom, holding his cap, 
bag-like, in one hand. 

“Here they are,” he said, and opened his cap. 
“Look. Aren’t they nice fat boys?” 

Sure enough, there in his cap was a writhing welter 
of big angleworms. 


) 


I SET OUT MY THROW-LINE 


105 


“Where’d yon get them?” I asked, surprised. 

11 Oh, just picked ’em up. But we’ve got to go 
easy on ’em. One’s enough for two hooks. And even 
at that we’ll hardly have enough for two runs.” 

“Well,” said I, “you and Ned bait, and I’ll get 
a lot of wood for the night.” (You see, I wished to 
put in a line of my own without their knowing it.) 

“Well, all right,” said Ned grudgingly. “But we 
might have tossed up for it. It’s no fun baiting.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, well, ’ ’ said I, knowing he wouldn’t accept my 
offer, “I’ll go if you want.” 

He turned in a pet and threw the painter into the 
boat. 

“Come on, Hal,” said he. 

“You might tell Hal what we saw,” I suggested 
by way of reconciliation, as I shoved them from the 
shore. 

“Geewhilikens, yes!” exclaimed Ned, in good 
humor again; and as they rowed away I stood there 
for a space, listening to Ned’s account and marveling 
at his powers of dramatic narration. 

Then I ran up the hill to the log under which I 
had laid the turkey’s entrails wrapped in oak leaves, 
picked them up and carried them to the platform. 
Here I sat down and drew from my pocket the piece 
of trot-line, which I had cut for myself, and my big 
hook—my meat-hook, as Ned had derisively called it. 
On this I impaled, one after another, the turkey’s 
multitudinous viscera and stuffed them up the shank, 


106 


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my nose, I confess, puckering at the operation in spite 
of me. When the last entrail was stuck on I held up 
my bait; sumptuous and luring, with thick rolls of 
intestines, it resembled some sort of strange German 
sausage. 

“There,’' I said, “if the turtles let you alone you 
ought to catch a whopper. There isn't a fish under 
ten pounds that could manage you.” 

Taking one of the snoods, I cut off the little hook 
and tied on my German sausage. This and a large 
stone for sinker I secured to my length of trot-line 
and then started along the hillside down the river. 
After crossing a ravine, I came up on a very steep 
incline that terminated at the bottom in a shelf of 
rock, about five feet high, jutting out over the water. 
Here on the ledge I knotted one end of my line to a 
twisted cedar scrub, and stood up ready to heave the 
tackle forth. But I paused and looked again up¬ 
stream and across to where Ned and Hal were baiting. 
Although it was now dusk, by looking sharp they 
could have spied me easily enough, for I stood out on 
the rock in plain view. But both were too engrossed 
in their work, I suppose, to notice me or even to hear 
the splash, to my ears prodigious loud, which my 
sinker made. 

On my way back to camp I filled my arms with 
wood and then went out again for more. It was all 
but night-black beneath the trees, and I had to jump 


I SET OUT MY THROW-LINE 


107 


lively to lay in sufficient fuel ere darkness descended 
for good. 

When the light failed at last, I returned to the 
platform and kindled a roaring blaze. We had un¬ 
thinkingly let our former fire go out; so I was forced 
to strike one of our matches. Still, this was only the 
second match we had used since the loss of our out¬ 
fit ; which left us a remainder of twenty-eight. 

I sat down against the front of the grotto with my 
feet towards the fire. . . . Twenty-eight matches! I 
wished they had been twenty-eight loaves of bread. 
My stomach was beginning to hunger after a civilized 
thing like bread, and I believe I would have sacrificed 
the largest fish in the Marmac for a single slice. But 
still, I reflected, we had some turkey. 

At the thought I arose and fetched out our supper 
and spread it in the firelight. Somehow it didn’t look 
so good as it did this morning; maybe because it was 
cold, or maybe too because I had been thinking of 
bread. Nevertheless, it was all we had, and you may 
be sure I wasn’t turning up my nose; I would fall on 
presently, when Ned and Hal returned, and be thank¬ 
ful too. Only, I was wishful of a little bread. 

Then, as I sat there with my knees drawn up under 
my chin, staring into the fire, an owl screeched sud¬ 
denly on the hill above me. I started and reached 
for the rifle standing beside me against the face of the 
grotto. Somehow, the eerie cry had raised my vague 


108 


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apprehensions and called up again the vision of hid¬ 
eousness which I had seen on the other shore but 
which I had for the while forgot. I seemed now to 
feel it close about me somewhere, and once when I 
lifted my eyes across the flames I fancied momen¬ 
tarily that the grisly specter was peering at me out 
of the darkness beyond. At another time it was in 
the grotto behind me; I could all but see it with the 
tail of my eye; it was crawling out now, on its hands 
and knees; it would lay its clammy fingers on my 
shoulder and demand the letter we had stolen from it. 

I sprang to my feet. This ghost-dreaming would 
never do. People went crazy that way. I must be up 
and doing, I told myself. So I bustled about and 
tried my best to throw off this incubus of morbid 
fancies and forebodings. I laid a few more brands 
on the fire, whistled a stave or two, and crossed to 
the edge of the platform to see if I could catch a 
glimpse of Ned and Hal. 

It was pitch dark down in front of me, though the 
firelight danced dimly on the leaves of the nearest 
trees. Here and there beyond the shadow of the hill 
I could make out the uncertain glimmer of the river, 
but was unable to discern any sign of our boat. 
Overhead, through a rent in the thick foliage, the 
stars were shining in a sapphire sky; twinkling and 
sparkling like so many brilliants. 

Then, of a sudden, as I stood gazing upward, Ned’s 
welcome voice came ringing across the water: 


I SET OUT MY THROW-LINE 


109 


“Get the supper out, Bert! We’re coming.” 

And shortly after sounded the dip and splash of 
oars, and in a minute or two he and Hal appeared 
over the brink of the platform. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A NOCTURNAL VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 

**TYTELL,” said I, “you fellows were slow 
VV enough baiting.’’ 

“You could ’a’ probably done it faster, you could,” 
Ned flung back. “Thank heaven we had to use up 
all the worms; no more baiting to-night for me. 
Where’s the turkey?” 

Hal looked into his cap to see if all the dirt was 
out. Then he put it on. 

“Well,” said he, “if I only had worms to last me, 
I’d run the line all night by myself.” 

“All the fish you’d catch too,” said Ned, his mouth 
full of meat. 

We ate in silence after that, each of us busy on his 
piece of turkey. It was not till the bones were sucked 
clean and thrown down the hill that any of us cared 
to speak. Then, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, 
“Well, fellows,” said Ned quite cheerfully (we were 
all a bit more cheerful now, I think), “we’ve got 
to stand watch again, I guess, turn about. And if 
any catamounts come nosing around when you’re on 
watch you’ll oblige me by waking a fellow.” 

“We’ve got to have an eye out for Jerry Bottom, 
110 


A VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 111 

too,” Hal warned. 1 ‘He might slip by us during the 
night. ’ ’ 

“But you can’t see anything now,” said I, “even 
if he did come.” 

“Oh, we can keep our ears open,” he returned. 
“The blamed old moon will be up pretty soon any¬ 
way. . . . Say!” he added suddenly, “let’s run the 
line as soon as we see the moon.” 

Ned was stretched out in the light of the fire, scrib¬ 
bling busily in his diary. He paused, holding up his 
pencil. 

“That’s a good idea, Hal,” he seconded. “Then 
we can turn in. ’ ’ 

“I wish we had more worms,” was all Hal 
said. 

After that Hal and I talked in a low voice on our 
side of the fire, while Ned wrote on the other. Now 
and again he would raise his head and ask us a ques¬ 
tion and then go on scribbling. I marveled where 
he could find so much material; but afterwards, when 
I came to read his diary, I found that he had related 
the incidents of our trip down to the smallest par¬ 
ticular. He ceased writing at last, put away his note¬ 
book and pencil, and joined us. Our conversation 
then drifted towards the treasure (or what we sup¬ 
posed was treasure), and we passed the time making 
various conjectures as to the locality of Hunter’s 
Hill, as to what was probably meant by “ten” and 
“fifteen”—whether yards, feet, or inches—and as to 


112 


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whether the treasure would be buried very deep down 
or only a little way beneath the surface. 

When we had all but exhausted our powers of 
speculation, I mentioned the strange misgivings that 
had been stirring in my mind on account of the re¬ 
appearance of Tom Crawford. But Ned and Hal 
pooh-poohed my fears and said a dead man couldn’t 
hurt anybody. “Why, look,” argued Hal, “a dead 
man don’t come back to life again. His soul either 
goes to hell, and he can’t come back, or else it goes 
to heaven, and he don’t want to come back.” 

“But what if he goes to purgatory?” I objected. 
“You didn’t think of that.” 

“Well,” he admitted, somewhat taken aback, 
“that’s right. But then, if a person got that far 
safely he wouldn’t want to come back either. I don’t 
think I would, at least.” 

“Oh, it’s not his coming back to life that I’m 
afraid of,” said I. “I know dead folks stay dead 
all right. Only, I claim there’s something mighty 
funny about his bobbing up again where we ’re camp¬ 
ing. It looks kinda like there’s something wrong 
with this treasure. ’ ’ 

But Ned and Hal only laughed again and scouted 
my uneasy presentiments for a bit of superstitious 
nonsense. For all that, I could tell by the way they 
talked that they weren’t cock-sure of themselves as 
they wished to be. 

Well, by and by the moon came up, and Ned and 


A VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 113 


Hal went off to run the line. I listened intently for 
the splashing of a fish, but I heard nothing. Only, 
once in a while an indistinct murmur of words would 
float across the water; and occasionally the dull sound 
of one of the rock sinkers striking against the side 
of the boat. 

It didn’t take them so long to run the line this 
time, for a short while after came the dip of oars 
again; and presently they were at the shore. 

“Get anything?” I called down. 

“Five little channels,” answered Hal, and then I 
heard him tell Ned to cut a stringer. 

When they got up to camp Hal announced that 
all the worms were gone; that most likely the min¬ 
nows were at work. 

“Well,” said I, “that’ll be enough for breakfast; 
and then maybe we can try for those other two tur¬ 
keys.” 

“Yes, we can try for them,” says Ned. “Why, 
I’ll bet those two turkeys are down in China by this 
time.” 

“Well, anyway,” Hal suggested, “let’s turn in and 
get some sleep. How are we going to guard camp? 
Same as last night?” 

I said I would like to have the daybreak watch; 
and so, after a little talk, the other two settled that 
Ned would stand guard first and Hal second. 

It was somewhat after ten, I should suppose, when 
Hal and I retired within the grotto and drew our 


114 


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blankets around us. But before Hal lay down (or 
rather knotted himself up, which is his peculiar posi¬ 
tion while sleeping) I noticed that he knelt for a 
minute or two at his prayers. It was a reminder to 
me, so I got up and said mine too; and then lay 
down again. 

But it was long ere I fell asleep; very long indeed, 
as you shall see. What with thinking on the dead 
man and trying to argue down my persistent fore¬ 
bodings, I remained wide awake. I tried shutting 
my eyes after a while and counting up to nine over 
and over again; but it was no use, the same sense 
of ill and insecurity always returned, staving off 
sleep. Then I lay with my eyes open, looking at the 
things about me; in this way, I thought, I might 
grow drowsy and gradually doze off. Across from 
me, on the other side of our little den, Hal was lying 
with his face against the wall, the firelight flickering 
duskily over his huddled form. Outside, the flames 
were dancing and crackling in the faggots, and be¬ 
yond, among the leafy tree-boughs, shafts of pale 
moonbeams stood aslant. At the corner of the grotto 
Ned was sitting with his back against the rock. I 
could see the profile of his face, with the red blaze 
upon it, and the muzzle of the rifle that was lying 
across his knees. 

For a long time I let my eyes linger from object 
to object, from Hal to the fire, from the fire to the 
trees, from the trees to Ned; but at the end of it I 


A VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 115 


was no nearer sleep than at the beginning. At length, 
weary with the very effort, I rolled over on my back 
and stared up at the vault above me. I had lain 
in this position for perhaps five minutes when from 
somewhere down the hillside a voice called out: 

‘‘ Hullo, up thar’! Hullo!” 

I started to a sitting posture, all trembling and 
shaking like a girl. My fears were being realized. 
I recognized that voice; it was the voice of Jerry 
Bottom! 

Ned had jumped to his feet and stepped forward 
a pace. 

“Well,” he answered, “what do you want?” 

“You couldn’t give us the loan of a match or two 
now, could you, pard ? ’ ’ asked the voice. 

Ned hesitated. Then, “Yes, we can spare a few, I 
guess,” he called back. 

The voice was silent, but I could hear the sound 
of someone laboring up the hill. My first impulse 
was to go out on the platform with Ned, but then, 
I reflected, if our visitor had any evil designs upon 
us, he would certainly not have adopted this open 
manner of approach. So, unclasping my hunting 
knife, I lay back again as if I were asleep. But I 
kept my eyes wide open, you may be sure, for I had 
a clear view of most of the platform, and meant to 
spring to Ned’s assistance if any treachery were 
attempted. 

Nearer and nearer came the footsteps. Then, sud- 


116 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


denly, beyond the flames, a head and shoulders ap¬ 
peared above our ledge. I shuddered a little, I sup¬ 
pose, as I lay there; for it was the head and shoulders 
of Jerry Bottom. The scar on his face gleamed ugly 
and menacing in the firelight; and his evil eyes 
glanced sharply from under his low drawn felt hat. 

Then, seeing N6d, “Wa-al, wa-al, bub,” said he 
quite friendly, 4 ‘a snug little berth as ever I laid 
eyes on. Rain er blow, you’re ready f’r anything, 
says you. How might a man git up thar’ now fer 
a sociable chat, like?” 

Ned told him to come around to the side. 

“A reg’ler front door, too, on’y at the side. Wa-al, 
now, that is keen. It takes a bright lad to find a' spot 
like this, hit do; an’ I’ll lay my fort’n’ you’ve got a 
head on yer two shoulders. Soon as I clapped my 
eyes on you standin’ thar’, I says to myself, ‘Bill,’ 
says I, ‘that boy’s promisin’. He’s smart, he is,’ 
says I. Oh,” he broke off in a lower tone, coming 
out within my vision upon the platform, “flien’s 
too, heh? and asleep. An’ you wouldn’t want ’em 
woke up neither, says you. An’ right you wuz; ole 
Bill, he’ll pipe a little lower.” 

“Well,” said Ned, “we’re standing watch by turns, 
and they ought to get their share of sleep. Here 
are the matches you asked for.” 

The old villain held out his hand, smiling, and 
took them. I never saw a larger hand in my life, 
or an uglier. The fingers were as thick as lead pipe, 


A VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 117 


and the nails black and broken. To think that these 
were the fingers that had so cruelly garotted poor 
Tom Crawford! 

‘ 4 How you do come to the p ’int! ’’ said he, shaking 
his great head in admiration. “I said you wuz a 
smart lad from the first. You’ll go right up in life, 
you will. You’ll be a bank president, and I shouldn’t 
wonder. But thanky fer the matches, bub,” he 
added, putting them in his pocket. 

I couldn’t but marvel at the size of the man. Ned, 
who was standing aoross the fire from him, looked 
like a dwarf in comparison. 

“And if you wouldn’t have no objections now,” he 
resumed, squatting down on his heels beside the fire 
and holding out his hands, “I’d take it kind of you 
if you’d give me a few handfuls o’ this here blaze. 
Me an’ Hank, we been on the river since sundown, 
and a man gits pretty chill a-settin’ on the water 
all that time. ’ ’ He leaned forward and sent a squirt 
of tobacco juice into the fire. “Thar’ now, that do 
feel like home. I declar’, hit beats all how a fire k’n 
smarten a man up, like.” Then, with a glance up¬ 
ward, “So hit’s a fishin’ trip you and yer frien’s is 
on, is it, bub?” he asked. 

Ned told him yes. 

“An’ I lay you ketched a right smart lot, too, 
heh?” 

“No,” Ned answered, “we hadn’t caught many 
after the first night; the river washed us out.” 


118 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Wa-al, that wuz a plum-buster, that wu z, an* no 
mistake. I ain’t see her that high in ten year. 
Washed out, heh? Wa-al, washouts don’t hurt bright 
pennies like you. You made up yer mind to keep 
on fishin’, you did. You wuzn’t goin’ to leave the 
river, says you; no, not by a long shot. I reckon 
now you’re just kind o’ floatin’ down, campin’ in 
likely spots, heh? er mebbe you’re goin’ to stay here 
fer a while, and I shouldn’t wonder?” 

Ned replied that Valley Junction was the end of 
our journey, and that we were traveling by easy 
stages and pitching our camp wherever we thought 
the fishing good. 

“Wuz you pullin’ out to~morrer then?” he asked, 
standing up. But seeing Ned hesitate, “Wa-al, I 
have ast a power o’ questions,” he owned, by way 
of apology. “But whenever I meet a bright lad like 
you with a head on his two shoulders I alius say to 
myself, ‘Bill, ole timber, you just put a few questions 
to that thar’ boy and watch him answer, and you’ll 
l’arn something, you will,’ says I.” Here he spat 
into the fire again. “Wa-al, good-night, bub. Thanky 
fer the matches, thanky kindly. Pay my respecks 
to yer frien’s. Ole Bill’s goin’ to th’ other side; if 
you should be a-wantin’ his he’p you just shout. 
But you won’t need no he’p, not you. You got yer 
rifle, says you. You ain’t afeared, says you. No, 
by gum, an’ you ain’t neither.” 

Running on in this absurd manner, he went off 


A VISITOR OF ANOTHER SORT 119 


down the hillside, making a deal of cheerful noise 
in the still night. When I heard him speak to his 
“friend Hank” down on the bank, I judged that 
he was out of earshot and stole softly to the mouth 
of the grotto. I called in a low voice, and Ned, 
who was standing at the brink of the platform, 
whipped about. In two bounds he was at my side 
and had me by the arm. 

“Do you know who was here?” he whispered 
excitedly. 

“Yes,” said I. “I heard every word. What do 
you think he was after?” 

“He wanted to find out who we were and what 
we intend to do. That’s what he wanted.” 

“Well,” said I, “he got what he wanted. You told 
him just what we do intend to do.” 

“And that’s just the trick! Now we can follow 
them as close as we want, and they’ll never suspect 
a thing. Don’t you see?” 

“Well,” said I, “maybe. You go to sleep now; 
I’ll take Hal’s watch. I can’t sleep anyway.” 

Ned was only too willing to be relieved, and so, 
after warning me to keep a sharp lookout, he crept 
back into the grotto. And shortly after, to my as¬ 
tonishment, I heard him snore. 


CHAPTER XV 


I PULL IN MY THROW-LINE 

W HEN I first began my watch I was very un¬ 
easy in my mind, as you may suppose. For 
all his show of friendliness, I strongly suspected some 
sinister design on the part of old Bottom; for the 
man, I knew, was a murderer, with the blood of at 
least two victims on his hands. There was no telling 
what he might be at; perhaps he was even now 
skulking somewhere close at hand; perhaps he meant 
to return stealthily with his companion, take us un¬ 
awares and slay the three of us. And so, with my 
eyes scanning anxiously the belt of darkness about 
me, I took up my position at the mouth of the grotto 
and held the cocked rifle in readiness to shoot upon 
the first sign of any treachery. 

But five minutes had not elapsed before I was most 
agreeably disappointed. Although I had not heard 
them put out from shore nor seen their boat upon 
the river, I soon perceived a red glow through the 
trees and knew that the scoundrels were camping, 
sure enough, on the other bank. 

This knowledge was a great relief to me, and I 
passed the remainder of the night with a feeling of 
comparative security. But I did not call Hal to stand 
120 


I PULL IN MY THROW-LINE 


121 


a watch, for sleep was as far away from my eyes 
as ever. Now and again I would take a turn on the 
platform and then throw a billet or two on the fire; 
but for the most time I remained seated, leaning 
against the grotto and hearkening to the voices of 
the night: the small chirping of myriad insects, the 
deep bellowing of bullfrogs down the river, the lone¬ 
some cry of an owl up on the hill behind me, and 
far off, the occasional yelp of some wild animal. 
Gradually, as I sat there, the glow of fire on the 
opposite shore died down to a mere point of light 
and then disappeared entirely; and I supposed that 
our unwelcome neighbors were asleep. 

All this while the moon rose steadily higher and 
had by now passed its zenith and was making down 
towards the western sky. It was a marvelously clear 
moon, with a radiance like daylight. Although for 
the greater part I could see it only by bright frag¬ 
ments through the silver-twinkling leaves, yet once 
as it floated into an open space between the foliage 
I beheld its broad lustrous circuit and thought that 
I had never looked upon a more simply beautiful 
thing in God’s creation. 

Then, suddenly, a sort of tremor ran through the 
trees about me; they murmured low all along the 
hillside, as if whispering one to the other; and then 
once more fell as suddenly still. After a little they 
began murmuring again, a soft rustling sound that 
filled all the air and set the quiet night astir. 


122 


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It was a chill wind, though fresh and fragrant, 
and I buttoned my coat against it. Then, getting 
to my feet, I kicked some unburned ends of wood 
into the blaze and laid on a few new pieces. When 
I raised my eyes from the pulsing red embers there 
was a grayish kind of twilight all around me that 
had not been there before; and above me on the 
hillside a bird piped weakly. Looking up through 
the trees, I saw the round disc of the moon still 
glowing in the west, but far over the eastern hills 
the stars were paling visibly in an ashen sky: and I 
knew that the dawn was breaking. 

Rapidly, then, came the day, and I watched it as 
it came. It was as if the firmament were some vast 
canvas, and an unseen hand was laying on the 
colors: the dark, slate-gray horizon waxed lighter and 
lighter; little by little a wide russet fan opened out, 
and down at its handle shone a golden olive nimbus; 
and now its fringes began to appear, and they were 
of a delicate azure with pale suggestions of sea-shell 
pink; then, swiftly, the fan was swept shut, and be¬ 
hind it lay a rolling flood of crimson and violet, the 
colors flowing into each other till you could hardly 
tell which was which; suddenly, long rosy streaks, 
the fingers of the day, felt far across the mantled 
sky; and now, low upon the horizon, the gorgeous 
East had transformed itself into a broad sea of liquid 
gold; and just beneath its surface lay the sun. 

I turned then and looked at the moon. If ever a 


I PULL IN MY THROW-LINE 


123 


thing showed wan and faded and lack-lustre it was 
that white rag plastered up there against the bright 
blue sky. Chapfallen and out of countenance indeed 
was the Queen of Night. 

It must have been after four now, and although I 
thought I would have a look at my line before the 
others awoke, still I considered it better to let my 
bait lie a while longer as I remembered Hal’s saying 
that the dawn was the likeliest time for fishing. So 
I curbed my impatience and sat down again upon 
the platform. 

Across the river there was no sign of life. Save 
for the boat, moored beneath a willow, I could descry 
nothing of our neighbors or of their camp. Turning 
my head, I saw Ned and Hal, wrapped in their blan¬ 
kets, still sound asleep in the grotto. 

By this time the sun was well risen, and round 
about me in the trees the birds were caroling blithely. 
I have never known much about birds (though I have 
seen many of them, and wild ones too) nor paid 
much attention to their singing. But on this partic¬ 
ular morning I listened with a kind of joyful wonder 
at my heart. I have never heard more profuse, 
gladder, or more cheering sounds. The whole hill¬ 
side was athrob with the whistling, the morning light 
shone brighter and gayer for it, the trees looked 
greener, and I, who had not had a wink of sleep on 
account of my dark misgivings, felt as lively and 
happy as though dead men and murderers, hazardous 


124 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


adventures and doubtful treasure, were but the things 
of a story-book. 

Well, what with the birds a-singing all around me, 
as I say, and everything looking so fresh and pleasant 
in the sweet sunshine, I fell to thinking more and 
more of my throw-line and entertaining greater and 
greater hopes until I could restrain myself no longer 
and stole away to see what in truth my prodigious 
bait had brought me. 

It was a matter of only a minute or so to cross 
the ravine and come down on the’little jut of rock from 
which I had cast my German sausage. As I hurried 
along I had, of course, the most sanguine expecta¬ 
tions: a picture of the line, taut and straining, stood 
before my eyes; even the gnarled cedar scrub I imag¬ 
ined to be half torn from its rocky bed and only 
holding by one slender root. It was just possible, I 
told myself, that the largest fish in this part of the 
Marmac had swallowed my hook. 

Fancy, then, my disappointment when, bursting out 
from the woods upon the ledge, I saw my line hang¬ 
ing limp and lifeless against the face of the rock. 
And what was worse, the sinker had evidently slipped 
loose, for the line was washed against the shore and 
lay trailing downstream upon the surface of the water. 
It was with a pretty long face, I suppose, that 
I stooped down and untied it. Then, by a few turns 
of it around my hand I took up the slack and felt 
only the steady throbbing of the current. The sinker 


I PULL IN MY THROW-LINE 


125 


had indeed slipped off; the first feel even of the 
sinker would have been some slight satisfaction, but 
this too was denied me. I was hauling in the most 
disappointingly light and empty bit of fishing-tackle 
a boy ever laid hands on. 

Only a few more yards remained. Leaning out 
over the water, I began to lift the line in order, if 
possible, to catch a glimpse of the hook; but in the 
act my arm was jerked violently forward, and, losing 
my balance, I pitched headlong into the river! 

My first confused knowledge, after the sudden shock 
of cold water, was that someone had me by the hand 
and was dragging me down deeper and deeper into 
the river. Then, like a flash, I remembered the line 
that was wrapped around my hand; there was a fish 
at the end of it; he had pulled me off the rock and 
was now drawing me down into the depths! 

You may fancy my feelings! I knew that I must 
have hooked a monster of a fish, and my whole soul 
was set on having him; and yet, unless I let go the 
line in another twenty seconds, I should certainly 
drown. And then I realized, to my despairing horror, 
that letting go the line was quite beyond my power. 
My hand was drawn far out in front of me, and the 
cord was bound like steel around it. Add to this 
that I was lying more than half upon my back, my 
head down and my heels up; and in my ears the 
murmurous thunder of the river. 

I struggled and fought. With my free arm I beat 


126 


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the water, striving to raise myself to the surface; 
but in vain. Deeper and farther into the very bowels 
of the stream I was being hurried along. My ears 
were roaring now, and I thought my lungs would 
burst for want of air. Explosions of fire, in rapid 
succession, flashed before my vision. Every moment 
I thought I must drown; and yet, contrary to the 
common experience of drowning men, no panorama 
of my past life fleeted through my mind; I thought 
only, in a vague and wandering way, of how I was 
going to land my fish. 

By this time the roaring in my ears had grown 
into one long thundering detonation, the bursting 
bolts of light before my eyes blazed out more bril¬ 
liantly, and I think I must have been on the very 
point of opening my mouth to the choking water 
when, suddenly, to my dazed consciousness there came 
the sensation of idly floating upward. You may be 
sure I accelerated my motion. In a trice I had 
whipped off the line from my all but paralyzed hand, 
and, still retaining the end, in two strokes shot 
to my armpits clear of the water. 

Gasping for air, I lay on my back for a moment 
or two, drifting with the current. ' And then, with 
a start, I recollected that the line had gone slack. 
My fish, then, was off! 

Overwhelmed with disappointment (and oddly 
enough too, for the cause of it had been the saving 


I PULL IN MY THKOW-LINE 


127 


of my life), I dejectedly made for the shore, scarce 
caring whether I got there or not. I had not taken 
three strokes, however, when, the slack gathering up, 
I felt a steady and rather heavy drag. I couldn’t 
imagine what it might be unless it were a water¬ 
logged piece of brush; for there was no life in the 
feel of it. Six or seven feet from the bank I was 
lucky enough to find bottom. Then, after a few steps 
farther, I secured a purchase with my feet, standing 
waist-deep among the uneven rocks, and turned to 
pull in the dead weight. 

But all of a sudden it became a very live weight! 
The line gave a tremendous heave that well-nigh 
fetched me beyond my depth, and I knew that my 
fish was still hooked fast. 

Bracing my two feet against the sides of a small 
boulder, I leaned back and began drawing him in 
hand over hand. But it was no easy business, I can 
tell you. I thought at first that he must be pretty 
thoroughly done up, for he had made no fight while 
I was towing him to shore; but I soon discovered 
that he had strength enough and to spare. Indeed, 
I could hardly handle him at all. He shot out this 
way and that, making the quivering taut line froth 
and hum through the water in abrupt little arcs five 
feet in front of me. I pulled in another yard; then 
I felt him lifting towards the surface, and I gained 
a bit more of the line; the next moment he dived, 


128 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


my arms thrust suddenly out, and I all but lost my 
balance. It was a savage plunge, and would have 
been enough to capsize a skiff. 

All this time I had not had a glimpse of him; and 
with what eagerness I longed for that glimpse you 
may well imagine. He must have been some thirty 
feet away now, and I was drawing him steadily in. 
I remember saying to myself that his game was up, 
that I had him now for sure; when, on a sudden, the 
line fell slack, dead slack, between my dripping fin¬ 
gers, and my heart gave a thump within me. And 
then, ere I quite knew what to make of it, out there 
on the shining surface of the river, just beneath the 
furthest tip of a downward arching willow, the water 
swirled in a swift eddy, and I saw one wing of a 
great tail flash upward in the sunlight. 

You may be sure I stood daft no longer, but hauled 
him in as quickly as I could, for I knew I still had 
him. The next instant the line straightened with a 
smack and the struggle began anew. 

But now his strength was spending fast. Though 
he still plunged like a bucking horse, I walked right 
out on the bank, fetching him in hand over hand. 
And then, five feet from shore, he suddenly gave up 
the fight, floated sidewise to the surface and lay there 
with one wicked eye bent on me, his captor. For 
the moment I stood stock-still with amazement and 
a little fear. An enormous fish he was, a channel-cat- 
that looked as big as a shark. I was half afraid to 


I PULL IN MY THROW-LINE 


129 


draw him in, he seemed so huge and powerful. But 
this feeling passed in a jiffy, and with a wild joy at 
my heart I swept him to the hank, jumped in to my 
knees, reached down and caught him by the gills. 
He gave one mighty flop, but the next moment I had 
him on land and was dragging him up behind the 
trees. 

There, as he lay panting among the leaves, I stood 
and surveyed him, my heart beating high with pride 
and excitement. He was of extraordinary size; I 
don’t think I exaggerate one whit when I say that 
he weighed between a hundred and a hundred and 
twenty-five pounds. His glistening back was of the 
color of slate, shading off at the sides into a lightish 
gray and dotted by irregular black patches. There 
was an air of malevolence about him too. His dorsal 
fin stood up like a sword blade, a menace gleamed in 
his popping round eyes, and even his long whiskers 
twirled angrily: altogether, he was a vicious-looking 
fish. 

But what a surprise I had for Ned and Hal! How 
they would open their eyes when they saw me with a 
fish almost as big as myself, and a channel-cat to 
boot! 


CHAPTER XVI 


\ 


WE BREAK CAMP 


F IRED by the thought, I quickly looped the line 
twice through one of the fish’s gills and hoisted 
him on my back. He gave two or three flops that 
staggered and almost upset me; but I had him in my 
own element now, and his struggles were useless. 

Hoping that the others were still asleep, I made 
my way along the hillside as noiselessly as I could 
(though you may imagine this was not easy with a 
hundred-pound fish on my shoulders). I wished to 
surprise them completely. I would lay my channel- 
cat before the mouth of the grotto and then awake 
them. 

Well, when I reached camp, sure enough, both were 
sound asleep. “Hey,” I called, “wake up, you fel¬ 
lows! I’ve got something to show you.” 

Hal stirred and sat up. 

“Uh? Wha’? Wha’s ’at? My watch?” 

Ned was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes. He was 
the first to spy what lay at my feet. 

“ Gee-min-ewfly!” he cried, and with one bound was 
out of the grotto and bending over the fish. “Look, 
Hal!” 


130 


WE BREAK CAMP 


131 


But Hal didn’t need any invitation to look. He 
was broad awake now and gazing in sheer wonder 
at my catch. 

For the first moment or so both were too surprised 
to ask any questions. Then Hal, his eyes still glued 
on the fish, spoke his first word, and his voice was full 
of a strange awe. 

“A channel-cat, too,!” he said. 

Then, suddenly straightening up, he looked at Ned 
and me with triumph in his eyes. “Tell ine worms 
can’t catch big fish!” 

“Worms!” I cried scornfully. “I caught him on 
turkey guts!—with my meat-hook too,” I added, 
glancing at Ned. 

And then I told them my whole story. You should 
have seen those two fellows! I ’ll wager Hal, for one, 
didn’t draw breath the whole time I was talking. At 
the end he gave a great sigh. 

“Gol-lee Moses! I’d give a million dollars to ’a’ 
been in your place—a quadrillion million dollars!” 

“Look,” said Ned. He was down on all fours, 
peering into the fish’s mouth which he was holding 
agape with a couple of sticks. “Look here. Here’s 
the hook sticking down in his throat. He must have 
swallowed it all right; but he almost got rid of it.” 

Sure enough, he had disgorged most of the shank, 
but the barb had served its purpose well and was 
safely lodged in the wall of his gullet. 

“I wonder how long he is,” said Hal, and lay down 


132 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


beside him on the rock. “Are my feet even with his 
tail? There, he’s longer’n I am, isn’t he?” 

He was in fact a half inch longer; and Hal, I think, 
at that time was over five feet tall. 

“I’ll bet he weighs a hundred an’ fifty pounds,” 
said Ned enthusiastically. 

Hal closed one eye, looking at the fish with a cal¬ 
culating air. Then he shook his head. 

“Nope,” he pronounced; “not over a hundred an’ 
ten, Ned. . . . Well, maybe a hundred an’ twelve,” 
he conceded slowly. 

“We ought to put him in the water again anyway, 
oughtn’t we?” said I. “Or else he’ll die.” 

Hal patted the fish’s head. 

“This old boy die? Not on your life! Catfish 
don’t die out of water. They’re like turtles; they 
don’t die ’cept you chop their heads off, and then 
they keep on moving. Of course, if you keep ’em out 
for a very long time they’ll die; so’ll turtles, I guess. 
What we’d better do, I s’pose,” he added, “is to 
braid some of this trot-line together. He might saw 
through one piece; he’s got pretty sharp teeth. I’ll 
braid, if you fellows hold the ends. Then we can 
slip it through his gills and put him in down near the 
boat.” 

In a little while Hal had plaited up about a foot 
and a half, which was long enough to go through the 
fish’s gill and mouth and be knotted together; to this 


WE BREAK CAMP 


133 


we secured a double length of line which would allow 
him sufficient play. 

“Now,” said I, “I’ll slip this piece of wood through 
the braid, and we can carry him easier. Take the 
other end, Ned.” 

But just then Hal uttered an exclamation and 
pointed out through the screen of foliage before the 
platform. 

‘ ‘ Look there! Across the river! Who’s that ? ’ 9 

I turned and peered through the leaves. There, 
standing on the open bank above his boat and looking 
our way, was Jerry Bottom, and behind him among 
the trees the smoke of a campfire. Ned dropped his 
end of the stick, and the fish thumped down against 
the platform. It’s a wonder to me it didn’t die, for 
during the next ten minutes we let it lie there un¬ 
heeded. But then, as Hal had said, “Catfish don’t 
die out of water.” 

t 

“That’s Jerry Bottom, Hal,” said Ned, his voice 
falling instinctively to a lower pitch. “Gee! I for¬ 
got all about him. He was up here last night. ’ ’ And 
then he recounted the visit we had received. 

“Well,” said Hal at the end, “if you told him we 
were floating down to Yalley Junction, I guess we’d 
better not hang around here too long. They might 
suspect something.” 

“That’s right,” Ned agreed. “Here’s what we got 
to do then.” He squatted on his heels, pushed his hat 


134 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


back and, driving home each point with a thrust of 
his forefinger, outlined a new course of action. 
‘‘They’ll be waiting for us to start ahead of them; 
I’m pretty sure of that. Well, our other plan was to 
let them go ahead of us, and we’d follow them. Now 
we’ve got to change that. We’ve got to go ahead of 
them. If we don’t, they’ll begin to think we’re in 
their secret, as Hal says. And we’ve got to keep them 
thinking that we don’t know anything at all about 
’em. Still, we don’t want to start too early and lose 
’em. They may not leave at all. This may be Hun¬ 
ter ’s Hill right here for all we know, and the treasure 
not ten feet away.” 

I started and glanced about me. 

“No,” said Hal, “the treasure’s not ten feet away. 
I’ve looked at every single oak-tree around here, and 
there isn’t a one with a mark on it. None o’ them’s 
been cut.” 

“Well,” said Ned with a gesture, “I didn’t think 
so myself. Any way, here’s what I’d say. We’ll cook 
our breakfast, get everything packed and ready to 
load” (you would think we had a dozen trunks), “and 
then sit around quiet for a couple of hours. If they 
don’t pull out by that time, we’ll start ourselves. 
And we ’ll make a lot of noise about it too, to let them 
know we’re leaving. I guess that ought to throw ’em 
off the scent.” 

“That’s all right,” Hal approved; “only we’ve got 
to take out our line.” 


WE BREAK CAMP 


135 


“If you fellows take out the line,” said I, “I’ll 
cook those five channel-cats. I want to take off my 
clothes and dry ’em anyway.” 

Well, after a little arguing about this, we all finally 
agreed, and, taking up our big fish, we went down to 
the river. When we got there Jerry Bottom had dis¬ 
appeared from the opposite bank; the only sign of our 
neighbors was their boat and the smoke of their camp- 
fire hanging in the woods. 

Hal and Ned, then, rowed away to take out the line, 
while I peeled off my wet clothes and laid them in a 
sunny place to dry. After that, I cleaned the fish 
and cooked them as well as I could (which wasn’t 
very well, to be sure); and then I shook out the blan¬ 
kets and rolled them up against our departure. By 
this time Ned and Hal had returned from the river, 
and the three of us fell to our breakfast of broiled 
fish. Though my appetite was razor sharp, I must say 
I sorely missed a little salt. Still, the fish was good; 
it was cooked food; and after I had brushed off the 
flakes of ash I made as excellent a breakfast as could 
be wished for under the circumstances. 

When we had done eating, we tarried according to 
our plan, waiting for Bottom and Webb to take the 
lead downstream. But never a move they made. We 
must have lingered there on the platform for upwards 
of three hours, talking a little now and then and grow¬ 
ing more and more impatient all the while. But there 
was no sign of striking camp on the other shore. I 


136 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


rather suspect now that they were playing 1 the same 
game as we. It was just possible, now that I think 
back on it, that they had an inkling of our knowledge 
of them and of their search. At all events, we agreed 
at length that it was useless to delay longer; that it 
was more expedient for us to start at once and to 
loiter down the river a half mile or so and then to 
pitch camp again; or better, to conceal our boat, if 
we could, and to lie in wait till they passed. 

And so, without making any bones about it, but, 
on the contrary, talking a great deal and rather more 
loudly than was necessary, we stowed our goods in the 
boat, saw that our channel-cat was fast secured (Hal 
had already given him the unaccountable name of 
“Barnum”), got aboard and swung out into mid¬ 
stream. 

We had just come opposite their camp when Jerry 
Bottom stepped out on the bank, a pipe in his mouth, 
and surveyed us calmly for a moment or two. Then, 
removing his pipe, 

‘‘Any luck, boys?” he called out genially. 

I, who was sitting in the stern, reached back and 
raised Barnum *s head. 

The old villain whistled in admiration. 

“That thar’s a big fish an’ no mistake!” he cried. 
“Biggest fish ever I see, I reckon. But what’d I say 
last night?” He pointed his pipe at us, shaking it 
emphatically. “I says you boys was bright pennies 


WE BREAK CAMP 


137 


and knowed a thing er two, fishin’ inclooded, says I, 
you kin bet.” 

We didn’t know exactly what to answer to this ab¬ 
surd flattery, so I called back that we were going on 
down the river now. This was evidently the bit of 
information he wanted, for, after wishing us good-bye 
and good-luck, he put his pipe back in his mouth and 
reentered the wood. 

We didn’t say anything for some time; each of us, 
I imagine, was thinking of the outcome of our treas¬ 
ure hunt and what our chances were against the cun¬ 
ning miscreants back there on the shore. 

Well, presently we passed over a gentle rapids and 
saw on our left a deep run of backwater lying beneath 
slanting willows and tall, vine-draped sycamores. It 
was an enticing place to camp; the fishing was prob¬ 
ably good there, as Hal said. But we had not left 
Bottom and Webb far enough behind yet to warrant 
our landing; so we only peered up the long green 
vista as we passed. 

The right bank all along here was steep hillside, 
with high and beetling bluffs standing up at intervals 
straight from the river. We were, I suppose, quite a 
mile below our former camp and just above one of 
these tall faces of rock when, chancing to look towards 
the comer of the cliff, I spied a rill of water spouting 
over a stone and plumping down into a pool at the 
margin of the river. 


138 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“A spring!” I cried. “There’s a spring! Now 
for a nice cold drink!” 

With a sweep of his oar Ned swung the boat’s nose 
around and made for the bank. When we jumped 
ashore we found that the streamlet came down from 
above, plashing over rocks and forming some very 
pretty little cascades. 

“Let’s go up to the source,” said Ned, “and drink 
from the spring itself.” 

We started up the hillside, making our way through 
the bushes and trees that grew abundantly in the 
leaf-mold soil. Every moment we expected to come 
upon the source, but it was only after we had climbed 
more than half the distance up the hill and were just 
even with the top of the bluff that we found the spot 
were the water issued from the ground. Beneath a 
shielding slab of stone in a little round basin set about 
with ferns, the cold crystal spring welled and bub¬ 
bled. 

Though we had been thirsty enough before, after 
our climb you may well fancy we took more than one 
draught of this refreshing water. When we had 
drunk our fill we rested for awhile, and then Hal pro¬ 
posed descending again. 

“We’ve got to keep an eye on Barnum,” he 
warned; “the old rascal may pull the boat away.” 
And with that he jumped up and, shouting over his 
shoulder, “Come on, you fellows,” went sliddering 
down the slope. 


WE BREAK CAMP 


139 


“Well, I’m going to have a look off this bluff be¬ 
fore I go down,” declared Ned, and began to walk 
around the precipice towards where it beetled over 
the river. 

For a little I was in two minds which to follow. 
Then, curiosity getting the better of me, I started 
after Ned. 

Thinking that I should arrive first at the front of 
the cliff, I clambered cornerwise up the hill through 
a thicket of stunted cedars and buckberry bushes. 
For you must know that the bluff bowed out into 
the river and that from its edge, throughout the 
entire curve, it tilted sharply upward to the hilltop. 
It was across this rounded pitch that I was now 
making my way. At length, judging that I was 
abreast of the furthest projection of the bluff, I be¬ 
gan to descend. I was a prodigious distance above 
the river, as I could tell; through the cedars around 
me I caught glimpses of waving sunlit treetops. 
They were right at my feet, it seemed; with a run and 
a jump I fancied I might have landed among them. 
And yet I knew that they were the trees of the 
opposite shore. 

The cedars were getting thinner now, and I began 
to go more warily, for the ground was as steep as a 
roof. Then, just as I gained a clear view of the 
brink and the far-lying country beyond, an incident 
befell that struck me sick and faint. I saw Ned, who 
was directly in front of me, suddenly grasp a shrub 


140 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


and lean over the horrid abyss. Then, in a trice, he 
turned, ran back a few paces, wheeled again, and, 
while my eyes popped from their sockets and my 
heart ceased beating, raced to the edge of the preci¬ 
pice and hurled himself over. 


CHAPTER XVII 

NED RESCUES LITTLE NETTIE 

F OR a moment I was weak and utterly dazed. 

Sky and treetops, quite topsy-turvy, swam be¬ 
fore my vision, and I dropped to the ground all of a 
heap. Then, once more, my strength and presence of 
mind returned, and I hastened forward to the brink 
of the precipice. But one glance down that fright¬ 
ful depth, and a giddiness came over me that well- 
nigh pitched me headlong. I fell flat on my face and 
dug my fingers into the sandy turf. Slowly then I 
worked myself forward again until my eyes com¬ 
manded a complete view of the river below. 

The first object I saw was a man in a boat some 
twenty feet, maybe, from the opposite shore. He was 
pulling on the oars with all his might; and, as far 
above him as I was, I could see how his head was bur¬ 
ied down between his shoulders with the efforts he 
was putting forth. 

And then I saw Ned. He was swimming furiously, 
about a boat’s length and a half from the shore and 
just a bit downstream from where the base of the 
cliff ran into the hillside. Several yards in front of 
him there seemed to be something like a ripple on the 
141 


142 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


quiet surface; and, as I was wondering what this 
might be, suddenly a few feet further down two little 
arms appeared, waving frantically, followed by a 
white upturned face. I cried aloud in my utter 
helplessness; for I was witnessing the last struggles 
of a drowning child. 

For an agonizing moment the white face with its 
frightened eyes strained upward, framed in a circle 
of floating hair. Then, swiftly, the water closed over 
it, the arms sank down, and I was gazing with despair 
at my heart upon two little hands still feebly moving 
above the surface. 

But I had forgotten Ned. Though he was all along 
within the range and almost within the focus-point of 
my vision, I had overlooked him. Now with a tremen¬ 
dous effort he made one last stroke, shot his right arm 
forward and grasped the fingers of the nearest hand. 
In a twink he had raised the child to the surface, 
turned over on his back and was towing her to shore. 
It was only a short distance he had to swim, and 
when, panting and stumbling, he dragged himself up 
the bank with the little girl in his arms, I could have 
applauded in admiration of his gallant and daring act. 

Before he was well out of the water, however, the 
man in the boat, who had been rowing all the while 
with the madness of desperation, reached the shore 
at last and leaped out with a hoarse cry. 

Ned swung round, the child still in his arms. The 
stranger sprang up the bank; and, 


NED RESCUES LITTLE NETTIE 143 


“Is she alive?” he cried, snatching her from Ned 
and clasping her to his breast in a kind of frenzy. 

Then Ned said something I did not hear, but the 
man, who was evidently her father, laid the child upon 
the ground, and the two of them began the work of 
resuscitating her. 

It was an anxious while, and I, still lying at the 
brink of the precipice, watched the outcome breath¬ 
lessly. Presently Ned straightened up, but the father 
still remained bent over the little form and gazing 
intently into the pallid face. Then he, too, knelt up¬ 
right and my heart sank within me. The child, then, 
was dead. 

But no! As I looked more narrowly I thought I 
perceived the regular rise and fall of her breast; after 
a space her eyes fluttered open, a wan smile flickered 
on her lips, and she held up her arms to her father. 

“ Hip-hip-hurray!’ ’ I cried from my perch on the 
cliff. 

You should have seen those two wheel around and 
look up. But they didn’t see me till I waved my arm. 
Then Ned turned to the other and said something: 
explaining, I supposed, who I was. 

“Wait till Hal and I come around,” I called, and 
began to worm away from the verge of the rock. 
Once on my feet I hastened back over the shoulder of 
the bluff and plunged down the hillside, sending no 
end of stones rolling and bounding ahead of me. 
I could hear them go splashing into the river below, 


144 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


and wondered how near they were missing Hal. 

11 Hey! ’’ he shouted up. 11 Cut that out! ’ ’ 

But I was now going too fast to stop, and the next 
moment I shot down between the trees to the water’s 
edge. 

“Ned’s dove off the bluff,” I cried, breathless, 
“and saved a kid’s life!” 

Hal didn’t seem to be particularly interested. 

“I didn’t know there were any kids ’way down 
here,” was all he said. “Where’d he come from?” 

“It’s not a he,” I answered, getting into the boat. 
“It’s a girl. They’re right around here on the other 
side. Her dad’s there, too.” 

“I did hear a splash,” Hal recalled, after a little, 
“but I thought you fellows rolled a boulder in.” 

Presently, then, we arrived in view of the bank 
where Ned and the stranger, with his little girl, were 
standing. Behind them was a trail, mostly hidden 
by undergrowth, that ran up a woody ravine. This 
ravine, as I lifted my eyes higher, seemed to be the 
dividing line between two hills, though it by no means 
separated them as a valley; only, away up on top was 
a sort of depression in the otherwise even sky-line. 
There, doubtless, was the head of the ravine. 

As our boat grounded, Ned and the stranger, who 
was carrying his little girl—and one side of him all 
dripping too, but he didn’t even notice that—came 
to meet us. Before words were spoken I had a goocl 


NED RESCUES LITTLE NETTIE 145 


look at him; and I marveled that ere this I had not 
remarked his size and appearance. 

He was a tall man, taller even than Jerry Bottom; 
though not quite so broad, he made up for what he 
lacked in bulk by the extreme litheness and wiry char¬ 
acter of his whole frame. He wore heavy leathern 
boots, with gray fustian trousers stuffed into the tops; 
yet there was none of the slouchiness about his gait 
that is common to country folk, but rather an air of 
briskness. His red flannel shirt, opened at the throat, 
was covered by a vest that had been through fair 
weather and foul. In his free hand he was holding 
his hat, an old brown felt, that had, like his vest, seen 
better days. 

But what struck me chiefly about the man was his 
face. A remarkable face it was, crowned by a wealth 
of jet-black hair that fell below the ears. Deep dark 
eyes set upon it a mark of sadness and melancholy 
which, despite the happiness that now lighted it, could 
easily be discerned. The nose was straight, and the 
lips, above a chin clean-shaven and square, were smil¬ 
ing at us with frank pleasure. Fbr a passing instant 
I fancied that he had one time belonged to other and 
better surroundings than those in which we found 
him. But when he spoke, though his voice was full 
and pleasant, I knew that he had lived all his days 
along the river. 

“So these is your friend,” he said, turning to Ned. 
“An’ one o’ them is a brother o’ yourn; which same 


146 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


is the black-haired one, o’ course. Well, boys, it’s 
mighty glad I am to be meetin’ you. My name’s 
Paul Plover, an’ this here’s my little Nettie as was 
christened Janet, after the ole girl. We owes your 
brother jest everything we got, does me an’ Nettie; 
and the ole girl too, soon as she hears of it.” 

We shook hands warmly, telling him our names. 
And then, kissing his little daughter with the tender¬ 
ness of a woman, ‘‘Why, Nettie, you ain’t afeared o’ 
these boys, is you?” he said to her. 

She looked at us a moment, her large brown eyes 
still troubled with the terror of the river. Then, 
quickly, she turned and buried her face against her 
father’s shoulder. 

“There, there now,” he soothed, patting her head. 
“Nettie mustn’t cry. . . . She don’t exactly know 
what’s happened yet,” he explained, “ner who saved 
her, ner nothin’; only that she was in the river.” 

Indeed, it was as he said, she didn’t know; and 
I pitied the poor little thing sobbing there against 
her father’s breast, her thick chestnut hair falling 
dank about her shoulders and her dress dripping wet. 

“Hadn’t you better take her home?” I suggested. 

“O’ course, that’s where we’re goin’, all of us. 
We was only waitin’ fer you two. Come on; the ole 
girl ’ull be jest that tickled when I tells her.” 

He had turned and was going up the trail. I fol¬ 
lowed eagerly, for, I confess, I saw prospects of a 
square meal. But Hal caught me by the arm. 


NED EESCUES LITTLE NETTIE 147 

“We’ve got to watch for Jerry Bottom/’ he whis¬ 
pered. 

But under the circumstances I wasn’t very keen 
for Jerry Bottom or for his treasure either. Both 
might go by the board for all I cared. Knives and 
forks and a table to put my legs under were worth a 
dozen treasures. 

“Oh, dam Jerry Bottom!” I answered. “Let’s 
get something to eat. ’ ’ 

For a second Hal stared at me as though I had 
offered him a personal affront. Then he shrugged 
his shoulders and started up the hill. 

‘ ‘ Oh, well, ’ ’ he said, ‘ 1 if you and Ned want to give 
up the treasure just for a dog-gone old meal and— 
but I lost the rest of the sentence, which he grumbled 
to himself. He didn’t say anything then for some 
time, and I knew he was as sore as a boil. Whether 
Ned had forgotten all about our treasure hunt or had 
abandoned it, I really couldn’t tell. He was some 
distance ahead of us, walking with Mr. Plover, and 
of course, I dared not ask him; though I imagine 
his recent experience had driven from his head all 
thought of Jerry Bottom and of everything else to 
boot. 

In silence, then, Hal and I trudged along after 
Ned and Mr. Plover. The trail we were following 
led up through the ravine which, as I had surmised, 
divided the chain of hills at the top only by a shal¬ 
low gap. The path here became steeper, and the 


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ravine, narrowing inward, looked more like a cleft 
in the level plateau of the hilltop. 

Bounding an elderberry bush that pushed its leafy 
bulk across the trail, I saw Ned and Mr. Plover 
mounting a stair of rough steps hewn into the clayey 
side of the gulch. At the same instant Hal, who was 
a pace behind me, plucked me by the sleeve. 

1 ‘Look, Bert!” he exclaimed, pointing down the 
ravine. “There they go now. It’s good-bye treasure 
for us. ’ ’ 

I turned, and through a slit in the thick greenery 
saw the gleaming river, and upon it, sure enough, a 
boat containing two men. There could be no doubt 
that it was Bottom and his companion; the way they 
looked and spoke as they spied our boat told me that, 
even if I had not recognized Bottom ’s enormous shock 
of yellow hair. The next moment they had drifted 
past the rift of water and were out of sight. But 
upon the instant a sudden inspiration flashed upon 
my mind; I whipped about and called to Mr. Plover. 
He halted, with Nettie still in his arms, upon the 
steps; Ned was at his side, and the two of them waited 
till we came up. 

“Mr. Plover,” said I, “do you know of a Hunter’s 
Hill around here?” 

His brow puzzled in a frown. “Hunter’s Hill? 
Hunter’s Hill?” he answered, as though trying to 
recall ever having heard the name. I wondered why 
he put so much stress on the word “hill.” Then, 


NED RESCUES LITTLE NETTIE 149 

S' 

“Why, you must mean Hunter’s Ford,” he said, his 
face clearing. “That’s what you mean—Hunter’s 
Ford. That’s right down below here. But I hadn’t 
never heard of any Hunter’s Fill” 

Though he asked no questions, I saw that he 
half expected an explanation. And an explanation 
jumped pat to my tongue which wasn’t a fib either. 

11 That’s it, I suppose, Hunter’s Ford. I heard a per¬ 
son talking about a Hunter’s Hill that was down 
here, but I guess he got his dates mixed.” 

“Must ’a’,” said Mr. Plover. “Nope, they hain’t 
no Hunter’s Hill that I knows on, and I been livin’ 
in these parts f’r nigh on twelve year.” 

He turned then and went on up the stair with Ned. 
But I grasped Hal’s arm. 

“I got it, Hal!” I whispered eagerly. “It’s the 
hill next to Hunter’s Ford! I’ll bet any money it 
is!” 

“But s’posin’ there isn’t any hill next to Hunter’s 
Ford,” he answered gloomily. 

“Bound to be! Hills all along here; and he said 
Hunter’s Ford was just below. Now we got Jerry 
Bottom where we want him! They can’t find that 
blazed oak to-day. We’ve got time to take a rest up 
at Paul Plover’s house, and eat dinner and maybe 
lay in some provisions; and then we can slip down 
the river and spy on ’em. If they’re searching any 
hill near Hunter’s Ford, we’ll know that’s Hunter’s 
Hill and you can bet on that! ’ ’ 


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But ingenious as this plan seemed to me, it didn’t 
take well with Hal at all. He only shook his head 
doubtfully and said, “Well, I s’pose.” By this time, 
however, the others had disappeared over the crest 
of the ravine, so that we must drop further talk on 
the matter and hasten forward. 


CHAPTEE XVIII 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS; 

WITH CONSEQUENCES 

1 SHALL never forget the pretty scene that met my 
eyes as I gained the top of the stair. Against a 
background of tall trees, and about the middle of a 
long level reach of a grass-blown hilltop stood a little 
cottage, or rather log-cabin, all covered with green 
vines, and with a wisp of smoke stringing from its 
single chimney. Beyond the cabin was a patch of 
waving corn, and near it, on the left, a number of 
neat vegetable rows. To the right was a boarded 
structure in a wire enclosure; which would be the 
chicken-yard, I thought, though I saw no chickens. 
Further over, next to the margin of trees and beneath 
their shady branches lay a brown cow, quietly chew¬ 
ing her cud. In front of the cabin were two circular 
flower-beds of red and white hollyhocks, fringed by 
a border of sweet-williams. Altogether, it was a sin¬ 
gularly pretty spot to stumble on away out here in 
the wilderness; and over it all hung the soft warm 
radiance of a June day. 

The path on which we stood led directly up to the 
cabin between the banks of hollyhocks. Mr. Plover 
151 


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and Ned were nearly at the door when suddenly it 
fell open, and a woman in a gingham dress, her sleeves 
rolled to her elbows, came out to meet them. But 
seeing little Nettie’s condition, she stopped short. 
Then, with a cry, she caught the child to her bosom, 
kissed her passionately three or four times, and turned 
to Mr. Plover for an explanation. He made a ges¬ 
ture towards Ned and said something; and we were 
near enough now to catch the woman’s answer. 

“You saved her!’’ she cried. “You! Oh, how can 
I thank you! She’s all Plov and I have. I think 
I’d die if I lost her. Mamma’s own darling Nettie!” 
And she held the child once more to her heart, cover¬ 
ing the moist hair with kisses. Then she set her down 
and turned to her husband. “But you haven’t told 
me who the young man is, Plov dear.” 

Whereupon Mr. Plover proceeded to introduce us, 
but got our names so confused that we musjt introduce 
ourselves. 

Mrs. Plover turned to Ned. 

“Your clothes are soaking wet, Mr. Taylor. Plov 
dear, take him in and give him your town suit to 
put on while his dries. I’ll change Nettie’s dress 
in the kitchen. And then go to the spring-house and 
fetch up a dozen eggs and another pat of butter; 
more cream too. Dinner’ll be ready in another half 
hour. Come, Nettie.” 

The cabin was partitioned off into two rooms. The 
front room, in which we sat while Ned was donning 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS 153 


Mr. Plover’s “town suit,” was bed-room, parlor, and 
living-room combined; but neat as a pin throughout 
and pretty, too. In one corner was an old-fashioned 
four-poster covered with a snowy counterpane, and 
against the opposite wall a little trundle-bed with a 
patch-quilt spread. A clothes-press, full of drawers, 
stood beside the door with an old Dutch clock atop it. 
The windows on either side were curtained with white 
muslin that was drawn together at the bottom and 
tied with a bright red ribbon. In the middle of the 
room was a plain deal table, and on it, to my surprise, 
I saw a row of books, an inkpot, pen, and pad of 
paper. The books were mostly old and very much 
dog-eared; they were evidently put to constant use. 
I picked one up and glanced at the title, “Gems of 
Poetry”; and laid it down, wondering. 

Mr. Plover must have noticed my surprise. He 
sat down on the edge of the bed and gave a proud 
little chuckle. 

“I reckon you is a bit flabbergasted now,” said he, 
crossing his legs and smiling happily. “You didn’t 
expect to see literchure in full swing like, out here 
at the end of nowhere. No, no, that ain’t none o’ 
my business, though I wisht it was; that’s the ole 
girl’s doin’s. I cain’t hardly tell one letter from an¬ 
other, I cain’t; but the ole girl—Lord! she reads as 
easy as walkin’. And write! you jest had orter see 
her! She kin write as purty as print. An’ she’s 
done gone an’ learnt Nettie, too. Why that little 


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Tin k'n handle a pen as smart as you or me'd handle 
a gun! An’ as fer readin'—it 'ud do your heart 
good to sit here of a night an’ listen of her a-clippin* 
off them big words like they was that many bits o' 
yarn. The ole girl, she tried her hand at me too," 
he added, after a pause (and I remarked a shade of 
sadness in his tone), ‘‘but I couldn't get all them 
things into my head. I'm no good, I reckon, except 
f'r fishin' 'n' trappin' 'n' sech-like." And then more 
cheerfully, “Why now," he went on, standing up, “I 
reckon I k'n show you another supprise. Look here." 
He lifted a little curtain at the head of the bed, and 
there against the wall hung a foot-long crucifix. “To 
see me, I reckon you wouldn't be thinkin' much o' 
religion, would you now?" 

“Are you a Catholic then?" I asked, surprised in¬ 
deed. 

“No," he answered, “I hain’t—leastways, not yet. 
But the ole girl is. I keep tellin' her I'm a-goin' 
to come round; and I am, too, some time, for her sake 
an' Nettie's. They're alius a-beggin' of me. But I 
don’t see what differ'nee bein’ a Cath’lie makes, 
s’long as a man does right. Gawd 'lmighty ain't 
a-goin’ to send a man to hell 'cause he ain't a Cath'lic. 
Howsomever, I'm ign'rant, I am, an' bein' ign'rant, 
I'm likely wrong. We’ll see, we’ll see . . . plenty o' 
time." 

He paused then, taking out his pipe and slowly 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS 155 


filling it from a leathern pouch. I was about to 
launch a polemic on the necessity of all men belong¬ 
ing to the one true Church, when Mrs. Plover’s voice 
sounded from the kitchen: 

“May I come in now?” 

I glanced at Ned. He was arrayed in a white stiff- 
bosomed shirt, bright blue trousers, and a pair of big 
tan shoes. The clothes were miles too large for him; 
but somehow, by the way he wore it, the rig had taken 
on a dash of style. Indeed, I have often remarked 
this about Ned: put anything on his back, no matter 
how awkward and outlandish, and he manages to look 
not only respectable but even a little modish. 

Mrs. Plover entered, leading Nettie by the hand. 
The little girl was much more at her ease now and 
looked much prettier, too. Clad in a fresh, checkered 
frock, her hair tied with a bow of pink ribbon, she 
was indeed as pretty as a picture. 

“Now then, dearie,” said her mother, “thank Mr. 
Taylor for saving your life.” 

She advanced somewhat timidly to Ned and put 
out her hand. 

“Thank you ever so much, dear Mr. Taylor, for 
saving my life.” 

Ned took both her hands in his. 

“May I have my reward?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, smiling and bobbing her 
head. He caught her in his arms, then, and kissed 


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her. And by the act he won her heart completely; 
her father’s and mother’s, too, you may be sure of 
that. 

Well, after a while Mrs. Plover called us into the 
kitchen for dinner. And what a dinner it was! Ham 
and eggs and hot corn pone with butter, creamed 
potatoes and peas and fresh onions and great tumblers 
of spring-cooled milk—oh I tell you it was a dinner! 
Mrs. Plover kept filling our plates in the kindest and 
most motherly way, while Mr. Plover ran on talking 
about one thing or another, and occasionally remark¬ 
ing that it did a body good to see people eat like us. 

Then Ned paused long enough to tell of how we 
had been swamped by the swollen river; which raised 
a perfect storm of sympathy on the part of Mrs. 
Plover. 

“Plov dear,” she said at length, “we’ll make them 
up a hamper. There’s that big willow basket in the 
attic. I’ll see that they have enough provisions. 
. . . Mr. Cunningham, you must take some more of 
the potatoes.” 

Well, I didn’t refuse. I had been eating like a 
bullock, I suppose; but I still felt that I had room for 
more. 

When Mrs. Plover had helped me to the potatoes, 
Nettie got off her chair, stood on tiptoe, and whispered 
something into her mother’s ear. 

Mrs. Plover laughed happily, hugging Nettie to her 
side. 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS 157 


“You little precious darling! ’ ’ she exclaimed. And 
then, turning to Ned, “Do you know what she said, 
Mr. Taylor? She told me to be sure to put in the 
basket the loaf of bread she baked yesterday; that 
it was for you especially.” 

“I’m sure it will be the best thing in the basket,’’ 
replied Ned gallantly. At which Mrs. Plover laughed 
gaily, and Nettie, blushing, buried her face in her 
mother’s lap. 

“Oh, but it won’t, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Plover, 
still smiling. “Nettie’s loaves are like other people’s 
stoves, rather black and hard.” 

Well, by this time I was finished. I don’t think 
there was a crease left in my body; I know I felt as 
tight as a drum. And when Mrs. Plover served a big 
cocoanut cake, powdered with sugar, I just had to de¬ 
cline it; but she said that some of it should find its 
way into our hamper. 

After that we sat back in our chairs, and Mr. Plover 
recounted again the whole incident of Nettie’s rescue. 
It was then for the first time that I learned how Nettie 
happened to be in the river at all. It appeared that 
she had walked out on a dead tree that leaned over 
the water at the foot of the bluff, and that, just as she 
slipped and fell, both Ned and Mr. Plover saw her. 
Mr. Plover vowed that he would never forget Ned’s 
leaping from the bluff: “Jest like one o’ them guard¬ 
ian angels the ole girl here tells Nettie about.” I 
was on the point of remarking that Ned would make 


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a funny-looking guardian angel, when Nettie herself 
killed the words on my lips. 

‘ * No, he isn’t my guardian angel, daddy,” she said, 
her brown eyes very serious ; 1 ‘but my guardian angel 
sent him.” 

Mr. Plover suddenly became very busy with filling 
his pipe. “Yes,” he said, without looking up, “I 
reckon he did, honey.” And Mrs. Plover bent over 
and kissed her little girl very tenderly. 

We were all silent then for a space, until Mr. Plover 
scraped back his chair and got up. 

“Come on, boys,” said he briskly, “let’s go out 
under the trees, and let the ole girl clean up a spell.” 

The four of us were already out of the cabin and 
walking towards the skirt of the woods, when Mrs. 
Plover called her husband back to bring down the 
willow basket from the attic. 

“Well,” said Hal quickly, “what are we going to 
do about the treasure? Bottom and Webb have gone 
on down the river, Ned. We saw ’em while you were 
talking with Mr. Plover.” 

I suggested, then, that we leave as soon as we de¬ 
cently could. “We ought to take a little rest anyway, 
after that dinner,” I added, for I felt as full as a 
stuffed sausage-skin, and a little sleepy, too. 

We just had time to agree to my proposal when 
Mr. Plover appeared in the doorway and came walk¬ 
ing across the grass to where we were lying under a 
buckeye-tree. 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS 159 


“You jest leave it to the ole girl,” said he proudly. 
“She’ll fix you boys up a basket what’ll last you fer a 
while, 1 guess.” 

We thanked him kindly. 

“There now,” says he regretfully, “hit’s little 
enough we k’n do fer you boys. I only wisht it was 
more.” 

We lay there, then, in the cool shade, chatting a 
little but mostly listening to Mr. Plover’s stories of 
his fishing and trapping. He made his living in this 
way, it appeared; and by his account the woods there¬ 
abouts must have been full of wild animals. Of 
course, we told him of the catamount that had at¬ 
tacked us, and he listened to the story as breathlessly 
as a boy. 

“Well now, that is int’restin’!” said he. “They’s 
consider’ble catamounts round here, all right; I tuk 
two last winter. But of a custom they don’t jump 
humans—of a custom—without they’re powerful 
hungry, which is mostly in the winter. But bob¬ 
cats! they’s a sight o’ bob-cats; and they’re meaner’n 
catamounts too, right mean. I mind two winters ago 
when I was takin’ one from a trap, he scratched me 
all up the arm, that bad the ole girl had to bind it 
up.” 

“But, Mr. Plover,” said I, “how do you get to 
town to sell your fish and furs and buy things?” 
For I saw no sort of conveyance on the premises. 

He gave a little laugh. 


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4 ‘Well, we does live purty fur fr’m civ’1 Nation; 
you might say so. But the Brewers lives fu’ther.” 
He jerked his pipe over his shoulder. “They lives 
down that way ’bout three mile; got a right nice 
farm, too. I hires their wagon whenever I want to 
go to Kimley; which ain’t so often, to be sure. But 
the ole girl an’ Nettie goes wunst a month—to church 
—during the fine weather, that is. The Brewers, 
they picks ’em up down at the ford—Hunter’s Ford, 
what you boys was askin’ about. The Brewers is 
Cath’lic, too.” 

Just then Mrs. Plover and Nettie came out and 
joined us, sitting in the grass like the rest. At first 
Nettie seated herself near her mother, but she kept 
looking and looking at Ned, I noticed, until finally 
she crossed over to his side. All of a sudden, when 
the rest of us had ceased talking for a moment, she 
glanced up into his face and said: 

“Are you sick, Mister—Mister Ned?” 

I looked at him quickly; his face did seem a trifle 
flushed. 

Mrs. Plover dropped the sewing she had in her 
hand and uttered a little cry. 

“Mr. Taylor, are you sick?” 

Ned laughed to reassure her. 

“Why no, Mrs. Plover,” he answered. “I can’t 
imagine what made Nettie think so. I’m all right. 
I think we’d better be going, if you would let me have 
my clothes. We’re all ever so thankful for your 


A BANQUET FIT FOR THE GODS 161 


kindness.’’ He rose to his feet, stood for a brief 
space with one hand on the buckeye-tree, and then, 
suddenly, sank down again. “I do feel a little 
dizzy,” he murmured. 

Mrs. Plover was already bending over him, her hand 
on his forehead. 

“The poor boy has a fever!” she cried, looking 
around. “He must be put to bed at once.” 

I glanced at Hal. There was a curious expression 
on his face, but I could read it as plain as day: He 
was anxious on Ned’s account, but he was thinking 
of the treasure, too. 

“Oh, I’m all right,” Ned protested again, but his 
voice sounded shaky and weak. 

Mrs. Plover turned to her husband. 

“Plov, carry him in the house at once and put him 
on the bed.” 

Mr. Plover reached down his big arms, took Ned 
up as he would an infant, and started towards the 
cabin, Mrs. Plover leading, and Nettie, Hal, and I 
bringing up the rear. I caught a glimpse of Ned’s 
face before we got to the door, and if ever a boy 
looked sick it was he. Hal and I remained outside 
while they carried him in; and presently Mr. and 
Mrs. Plover returned. 

“I think I can cure the poor dear lad,” she as¬ 
sured us. “It’s exposure and the starvation he’s 
gone through. Then that jump from the cliff was a 
terrible shock, poor dear. And to top it all came 


162 


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the dinner. He really ate too much, I think / 9 she 
added, smiling. 

“And he kin eat all we’ve got, too, Janet/’ inter¬ 
rupted Mr. Plover over her shoulder. 

“Yes, of course, Plov dear; but you don’t under¬ 
stand. Now you boys must stay with us to-night/* 
she went on, turning again to us. “ He has to have a 
good night’s rest. And Plov, if he should take a turn 
for the worse you’ll go to Kimley for the doctor.” 

“You jest say when, ole girl. I reckon I’ll fetch 
that doctor here hand over fist.” 

“I’m going to put him to bed now,” concluded 
Mrs. Plover. “Don’t go far from the house; I may 
need you.” 

I could not but notice the change that had come 
over Mrs. Plover now that Ned was ill. Up to the 
present she had, of course, been kind and hospitable 
to us and full of gratitude for the saving of her 
child. Nevertheless, there was a suggestion of con¬ 
scious reserve in her manner; for example, she had 
addressed us, mere striplings that we were, as Mister. 
Now, however, of a sudden Ned was become her “poor 
dear lad,” and we had very properly descended to 
the plane of boys. Though I didn’t quite understand 
it then, I do so now: Sickness will invariably call 
out the mother in a woman, and the sick one, whether 
old or young, becomes for the time her child. 

Well, then, we three, Mr. Plover, Hal, and I strqlled 
over to the shade again and sat down. 


CHAPTER XIX 


PAUL PLOVER 

**TyTOW I do hope the pore feller don’t get tuk 
bad,” said Mr. Plover, filling his pipe; “an’ 
him on a fishin’ trip, too. I reckon, though, the ole 
girl’ll fix him up; she knows a thing or two. Not 
but what I hain’t wantin’ to go to Kimley,” he added 
hastily. 

All of a sudden Hal sprang to his feet as though 
he had been sitting on a bees’ nest. 

“Holy jumpin’ Jerusalem, Bert! Barnum!” 

Mr. Plover must have thought that Hal, too, was 
falling ill; I know I did, for I couldn’t imagine what 
he meant. 

“Barnum?” I echoed, wondering. 

“Yes, our big fish,” he explained excitedly. 
“We’ve left him down in the river!” 

44 Oh, ’ ’ said I, rather relieved. 4 4 Well, where would 
you have him—on dry land?” 

44 But the turtles!” he cried. 44 The turtles have 
got him sure by this time, if he hasn’t broken the 
line and got away.” 

44 How big is he?” asked Mr. Plover quietly, re¬ 
moving his pipe and blowing a cloud of smoke. 

163 


164 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Longer’n I am,” answered Hal. 

Mr. Plover put his pipe back into his mouth. 

“H’m. They hain’t a turtle in this river’ll bother 
him, I reckon.” 

4 ‘Well, let’s go down, anyway,” said I, knowing 
Hal would be in a stew until we had a look at Bar- 
num. “We must bring up our blankets and things— 
and that rifle! Lord, Hal, we left the rifle in the 
boat! ’ ’ 

Mr. Plover went over to the cabin to tell his wife 
whither we were going, and when he came back he 
was carrying, slung through the crook of his arm, 
a gun of his own. 

“I jest thought I’d show you boys the best rifle 
ever I drawed bead with,” says he proudly. “They 
calls this kind a pea-rifle but hit’s the only one of its 
kind f’r me, or of any other kind fer the matter o’ 
that. I’ve used ’em all, I reckon; but fer range and 
acc’racy I ’low they hain’t none of ’em kin hold a 
candle to this ole muzzle-loadin’ pea-rifle.” He pat¬ 
ted it tenderly as he spoke and at the end handed 
it to me for inspection. “Look out now, Bert,” he 
warned. “She’s hair trigger, she is.” 

I took the piece and looked at it curiously. It was 
an ancient firearm, surely, with a long barrel as thick 
as your wrist that must have weighed fifteen or six¬ 
teen pounds. The bore was only as large as the tip 
of your little finger, and the stock was long and nar¬ 
row, with polished brass mountings. 


PAUL PLOVER 


165 


“She’s kinda heavy, isn’t she?” I ventured, re¬ 
turning it to him. 

He laughed quietly as we resumed our walk down 
the trail. 

“You hardly know you’re carryin’ it after a 
while,” said he; and indeed, to judge by the way 
he had it hooked in the hollow of his arm, I am sure 
he didn’t know he was carrying it. 

When we reached the river Hal ran down into the 
boat and looked over the stern. 

“He’s here, all right,” he said, very much relieved, 
and began to lift up the fish to show it to Mr. Plover. 
But there was a sudden violent flop that almost landed 
Hal in the water. 

“Wait a moment,” said Mr. Plover, setting his 
rifle against a tree; “they hain’t no use makin’ him 
pesky.” And he. went down into the boat. “That 
sure is a right smart fish now—and a channel, too, 
by gum! Did you ketch him around here?” 

We told him, just up at the bend. 

“I wonder now—” He paused, pulling his chin. 
“I wonder now ef he ain’t the same rascal what broke 
my little hooks last week two nights runnin’. He 
snapped five on ’em, same’s you’d snap twigs. I 
Towed he was a channel, too; an’ the third night I 
laid fer him, but he’d got enough steel in his mouth 
by that time, I guess. Lemme take a peep.” He 
bent down and adroitly opened the fish’s mouth. 
“Look! Look there now! I thought so!” he cried. 


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Sure enough, there, stuck in the sides of the gaping 
red jaws, were three little points of steel that you 
could just barely see. “That’s him all right,” said 
Mr. Plover, dropping the fish back into the water. 
“You boys was sure right smart to land him, you 
sure was. ’ ’ 

Well, then I told him how I had been jerked into 
the river and nearly drowned; and he laughed till 
the tears came to his eyes, not realizing, I suppose, 
what a narrow squeak for life I actually had had. 

“I ketched a middlin’ fair one myself last night,” 
he said at length; “ef you boys care to see him.” 
He walked over to the wall of the bluff, reached down 
and picked up a wire that was just visible running 
into the river. Then, as he pulled on it very care¬ 
fully and with no little effort, a big black contrivance 
began to appear on the surface of the water some 
distance out. I couldn’t imagine what it might be; 
it looked like the end of a large log; gradually, how¬ 
ever, more and more of it showed above the surface, 
and I knew that it was some sort of fish-trap. Mr. 
Plover then laid hold of another wire, as cunningly 
concealed, and heaved on that until the whole of the 
long black frame lay near the shore, half of it above 
water. All of a sudden there sounded within an up¬ 
roar of splashing so that the water became quite 
frothy. 

“That’s my fish-box,” said he, “an’ a right smart 


PAUL PLOVER 


167 


piece o’ work too, ef I do say it myself as shouldn’t.” 

It was a huge affair, about twelve feet long, round, 
and wattled with strong willow withes bellying a 
little at the middle and nailed at either end to large 
barrel-tops. 

4 ‘There now,” said Mr. Plover. “I don’t want to 
pull her in no fu’ther. Them fish smashes around 
in shallow water an’ gets mussed up consider’ble. 
You boys jest step in the boat an’ pull alongside.” 

We did so, but at first, though they had ceased their 
frantic efforts to escape and were lying still, I could 
not see a single fish. After a bit, as the water cleared 
off, I began to make them out; the box was literally 
packed with them: catfish and stone-perch and carp 
and buffalo and some other kinds I had never seen 
before. 

“Gol-lee!” cried Hal rapturously. 

“I got ’em sep’rated,” explained Mr. Plover from 
the bank; ‘ ‘ cats on one side an ’ scalers on the other; 
sealers cain’t live long with cats. Look in the right 
end—that’s where the cats is—an’ see ’f you find 
that shovel-head.” 

Just as I looked, a great yellow thing, like a log, 
floated to the surface, the other fish dropping be¬ 
neath it. It was a monster of a catfish; its head was 
the size of a bucket. 

“He’s not as big as Barnum though,” said Hal 
promptly. 


168 


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“No,” replied Mr. Plover with a laugh, “he ain’t 
so long, I reckon; but they’s consider’ble more meat 
on him.” 

“But don’t they lose weight, Mr. Plover, if you 
keep them very long?” I asked, when we were on 
shore again, and he had rolled his box back into deep 
water. We were seated on a log now, facing the 
river, and Mr. Plover was thoughtfully drawing on 
his pipe, with his gun between his knees. 

“Oh, they eats,” he explained. “You k’n feed 
’em. ’Less o’ course, they’re gilled; in which case 
you may as well pitch ’em back right away, or else 
cook ’em at wunst. The worst thing, though, is 
crowdin’ ’em. You cain’t crowd fish. I reckon I 
got too many in there now,” he added; “but I’m 
a-goin’ to Kimley, maybe this week, maybe next; an’ 
they’ll do, they’ll do.” 

We fell silent, then, for a while, and I grew a little 
sleepy, sitting there in the shade. The air was warm 
and drowsy and still. Save for the murmur of the 
river and the occasional prattle of a bird upon the 
hillside, there wasn’t a sound. Around about us on 
the green bank lay a checkered pattern of light and 
shadow, where the afternoon sun fell aslant through 
the trees. And out over the margin of the river a 
cloud of gnats was expanding and contracting in a 
shaft of sunbeams. 

‘ ‘ I wonder how Ned is doing, ’ ’ said .Hal at length, 
breaking the silence. 


PAUL PLOVER 


169 


Mr. Plover took his pipe from his mouth and patted 
the ashes down in the bowl. 

“Oh, Ned’ll be all right,’ ’ says he comfortingly. 
“You mark my words, the ole girl’ll fetch him 
around. Don't you worry. Why, I mind I was that 
sick wunst I couldn’t raise my blessed arm, an’ the 
ole girl had me on my feet inside a week: it was win¬ 
ter, too, an’ Nettie was a baby. . . . Bless my heart, 
but that ole girl’s a trump! Ef you knowed her as 
I knows her you’d say likewise an’ amen too. Why 
boys, I ain’t worth her one little bit; I ain’t worth the 
ground she walks on. ’ ’ 

His voice had suddenly become very tender; he 
spoke lower now, without looking at either of us. 

“I mind when I first met her; she lived on a farm 
’bove Kimley, an’ I was trappin’ ’n’ fishin’ in them 
days, same as alius. She was the purtiest little maid 
then, with her brown hair an’ her smilin’ brown eyes 
—not but what she ain’t purty still, as you may see. 
I calls her ole girl, but she hain’t old, not by a long 
shot; though her hands, what I ain’t worthy to 
tech, is a bit roughened up with work.” All this 
Mr. Plover threw in hastily as a long parenthesis. 
He took a few pulls on his pipe then, reminiscently. 

“Well sir, I went a-wooin’ of her, an’ she said Yes. 
‘Plov dear,’ says she—she called me ‘Plov dear’ from 
the first an ’ still so names me, as you may have noted 
—‘Plov dear,’ says she, ‘I’m yourn. Take me where 
you live. I’ll be true to you alius,’ says she. And 


170 


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her come of rich farmer folks, too, ’n’ haym’ an ed- 
dication, ’n’ playin’ the pianny, ’n’ courted by all 
the young fellers in the country-side. But her ole 
man, he couldn’t see me f ’r tall timber, not him. So 
one night we slips off, me ’n’ her, an’ goes to Kimley 
an’ was married by the priest. ‘Plov dear,’ says she, 
‘I’m a Cath’lic, you know. We must be married by 
the priest,’ says she. ‘An’ all our children is to be 
Cath’lics, too!’ I didn’t make no objections to that; 
all I wanted was her.” 

He paused for a moment, and I stole a glance at 
him sideways. There was a little smile about the 
corner of his mouth; and his half-closed eyes were 
looking, not at the pipe in his hand, but back into 
this treasured past. 

“Well, sir, married we was, then, come this August 
fourteen year ago. An’ when her ole man found 
out he riled up and shuk her off without a penny. 
So I settled down to be a reg’ler farmer like her dad, 
thinkin’ he might ease up a peg, and knowin’, too, she 
wouldn’t want to live her days as a trapper’s wife. 
But I didn’t have no luck. First thing, the river 
ups and washes my crops clean out. Well, I tries 
once more, an’ next year up sweeps the river again. 
‘Ole girl,’ says I, ‘I ain’t fit fer a farmer. I ain’t 
fit f’r nothin’ ’cep’ river life—fishin’ ’n’ trappin’. 
Will you resk it with me?’ says I. ‘Plov dear,’ she 
says, ‘I married you fer keeps, didn’t I? fer keeps 
it is, then, go where you will.’ My heart give a gre’t 


PAUL PLOVEE 


171 


jump o’ joy when I heard her say them words, fer 1 
knowed she loved me true. An’ besides, I was a-hun- 
gerin’, like, fer my traps an’ my hooks. Well, then, 
I ups and sells my bit o’ ground an’ come a-heelin’ 
straight down here. We lives in a tent first, till I 
built our cabin an’ got things settled. An’ then, on 
Christmas Eve o’ that year, Nettie comes; an my 
heart was plum’ full. ‘Plov dear,’ says the ole girl, 
lookin’ up at me an’ then down at Nettie, ’n’ smilin’ 
like, ‘Gawd’s give us a Christmas present.’ ” 

He broke off, then, for a space, gazing out on the 
river. And when he spoke again there was a note of 
wistfulness in his voice that was doubly pathetic, 
coming as it did from such a big strong man. 

“An’ there she is, up there on the hill,” he con¬ 
tinued, “workin’ an’ drudgin’, come fair come foul, 
her what knowed fine dresses ’n’ parties ’n’ books ’n’ 
piannies ’n’ sech-like—0 Gawd, ef I could only bring 
her back to them things! Ef I could only give her a 
little taste of somethin’ better, somethin’ what she 
was used to b’fore I come acrost her path. But I 
ain’t had no luck—alius the river, I reckon . . . alius 
jest the river.” 

Well, as you may suppose, Hal and I didn’t attempt 
to comfort him. We couldn’t. We were mere boys; 
what could we say to assuage the sorrow of this great 
ruggedchmn, simple and confiding though he was? 
So we sat there in silence, the three of us, looking out 
upon the river. 


CHAPTER XX 


WE SLEEP BETWEEN SHEETS 


A FTER a while I noticed that the patches of light 
around us on the bank had disappeared: the 
sun had dropped behind the bluff above us. 

Presently Mr. Plover knocked his pipe against the 
log, thrust it into his pocket, and stood up. 

* 4 Come, boys,” he said briskly, “let’s be a-goin’ up 
to the cabin. It’s gettin’ on to supper-time, I reckon. 
Give me them blankets. There now, you got every¬ 
thing?” 

He had resumed his ordinary cheerful mood and, 
as we walked up the trail, chatted on very merrily, 
now and then emphasizing his opinion that Ned would 
be “as fit as a fiddle by mornin’.” 

We had just got to the foot of the earthen stair in 
the side of the ravine, when a sudden sweet voice, as 
clear as a bell, began to sing somewhere above us on 
the plateau. Mr. Plover grasped my arm. 

“Listen,” said he softly; “that’s her now a-singin’! 
Hain’t she a warbler! Listen!” And while he 
cocked his head a little to catch the song he kept look¬ 
ing at me, his eyes beaming with pride. 

172 


WE SLEEP BETWEEN SHEETS 173 


“0 all the hills are green, love, 

And all the skies are blue. 

0 but it’s bonny weather, love. 

For me and you.” 

The last few notes sounded as low and liquid as 
running water; I think it was the sweetest singing I 
have ever heard. I stood up on tiptoe, looking over 
the edge of the ravine, to catch a glimpse, if possible, 
of the singer; but all I could see were the tops of 
trees, at the other end of the glade, shining rosily in 
the evening sun. And then, as I turned to Mr. 
Plover, the voice began a second stanza. 

“But when the hills are bleak, love, 

And the skies no longer blue, 

If you shall question then, love, 

You’ll find me true,— 

Still, still, true.” 

Again there was that soft lingering on the final 
words; like the low notes of a dove. 

“Gee,” said Hal, “that’s pretty!” 

“Hain’t it!” cried Mr. Plover, and started up the 
steps. When he reached the top, there was Mrs. 
Plover out in front of the hollyhock beds, gathering 
up some pieces of linen that lay strewn on the grass. 
She started up when she saw us and came down the 
path. 


174 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“We heard you a-singin’, ole girl,’' said Mr. Plover 
enthusiastically. “That voice o' yourn beats the 
birds all holler. ‘Why, I didn't tell you now," he 
added, turning to us, “that she writ them words her¬ 
self!" 

Mrs. Plover laughed a happy laugh, and blushed 
a little, too, I think. 

“Plov!" she remonstrated; “you're a regular 
boy!" And then, in a different tone, “Ned's doing 
nicely," she went on. “He's resting more easily now, 
poor boy. Nettie's in the room with him; she wanted 
to nurse him, she said. I've washed his clothes so 
he'll have something clean to put on in the morning. 
He’ll be all right then, after a good night's sleep. 
But Plov, you and the boys will have to put up in 
the kitchen. I ’ll get those two straw ticks down after 
supper." 

We had arrived at the cabin by this time, and as 
we went around to the kitchen, I peered in at the 
window and saw Nettie sitting at the bedside and 
Ned, with his face turned to the wall, sleeping soundly. 

Shortly then, after Mr. Plover had milked the cow 
and done some other chores in which he would by no 
means allow us to assist him, supper was announced, 
and we all went in and sat down. Mrs. Plover 
wouldn’t suffer us to talk much for fear of disturbing 
Ned. (He was having it rather soft, I thought.) 
But if we didn't talk, we ate; at least I did, with just 
as much of an appetite as at dinner. 


WE SLEEP BETWEEN SHEETS 175 


“Now, ole girl/’ said Mr. Plover, laying down his 
knife and fork and getting quietly (and awkwardly) 
to his feet, “when you get the dishes cleaned up, you 
jest call me an’ I’ll fetch them ticks down. An’ make 
a pallet fer yourself in the other room too, ’cause I’m 
a-goin’ to do the settin’ up.” 

“Indeed you’re not,” flashed out his wife, forget¬ 
ting her own injunction of silence. “What do you 
know about nursing a sick hoy? You’re going to 
sleep right here and not come bothering around at 
all.” 

“Well,” he replied, “I don’t know about med’cine 
and sech things, but I could call you, couldn’t I, when 
I needed ’em?” 

Well, in the end they compromised by dividing the 
night-watch between them, Mr. Plover taking the first 
half. 

When Mrs. Plover at length had prepared our bed 
in the kitchen, I was willing enough to turn in, for 
I was dead tired. The sky was still bright, I remem¬ 
ber, when we went inside and found our mattress on 
the floor, with snowy sheets and pillows and our own 
blankets at the foot of it. It was a great comfort, as 
you may imagine, to take off our clothes and sleep 
once more like civilized human beings; those fresh 
white sheets felt like velvet. 

I turned over, stretched my legs luxuriously, and 
snuggled my head into the clean-smelling pillow. 
Just then, Hal, who was sitting on the other side of 


176 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


the mattress and taking off his stockings, gave a kind 
of sigh and said: 

4 'Gee, Bert, it’s too bad we haven’t got our line 
out!” 

If I hadn’t been already half asleep I believe I 
would have thrown my shoe at him. As it was, I 
could only murmur, “You’d run it yourself then;” 
and the next moment I was in the land of Nod. 

I was awakened the following morning by the odor 
and sizzle of frying bacon; and looking up, I saw Mrs. 
Plover at the stove. It was broad day; the door, 
which faced the east, was shut (for my sake, I sup¬ 
posed), but I could see the sunlight lying beneath it. 
Hal was nowhere in sight, nor Mr. Plover: I was ap¬ 
parently the only slug-a-bed in the house. 

“Good-morning, Mrs. Plover,” said I, somewhat 
abashed. “I hope I haven’t been in your way here.” 

She turned with a little start, but seeing me, smiled 
brightly. 

‘‘Good-morning,’’ said she, quite merrily. “You’re 
not in my way in the least. I didn’t want to wake 
you, you were sleeping so sound, but I simply had to 
get breakfast. Oh yes,” she went on, answering my 
look, “little Hal and Plov have been up long ago. 
He took Hal with him to run his lines. And Ned is 
well again—isn’t that fine! He and Nettie said they 
were going out to get the eggs, but they’ve been gone 
ever so long. I suppose Nettie’s showing him her 
little shrine down in the woods that she built with her 


WE SLEEP BETWEEN SHEETS 177 


own hands for Our Lady. ’ ’ She turned again to the 
stove. “ Just wrap that blanket around you and go in 
the other room and dress; I brought your clothes in 
there. Hurry now; it’s ’way after six, and Plov’ll be 
back any minute.” 

As I was buttoning up my shirt in the front room, 
I looked out the open window and spied Ned and 
Nettie up at the far end of the glade near the margin 
of the woods. Ned was carrying a basket (the eggs, 
I supposed), and Nettie, at his side, had her arms full 
of wild flowers. They seemed very gay and merry 
as they walked together across the bright, sunlit grass 
still sparkling with the morning dew. Nettie was run¬ 
ning on in the liveliest manner, every now and then 
holding the flowers against her breast with one hand 
while with the other she pointed out some spot that 
was of especial interest in her little life. It was very 
pretty, I thought, to see them there against the green 
background of the trees. 

I was dressed now and going out to meet them when, 
opening the front door, I saw Hal and Mr. Plover 
coming up the path from the ravine. 

So soon as Hal caught sight of me, “Hey, Bert!” 
he cried, “you ought to see the fish Mr. Plover caught! 
Seven beauts! not one of ’em under five pounds and 
all channels too! Gee, Mr. Plover knows how to fish! 
don’t you, Mr. Plover? Why, he said beforehand 
he’d probably catch channels this morning!” 

Mr. Plover grinned broadly. 


178 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“You’re a keen little feller fer fishing ain’t you, 
Hal?” said he. “I never see your beat yet. I wisht 
to goodness now I could show you some real fishin’, 
that I do. You an’ me ’ud have a time of it, wouldn’t 
we, Hal?” He chuckled at the thought, looking 
down at Hal with kindly, affectionate eyes. 

I was about to say that perhaps we might all go on a 
camping trip together sometime, when Mrs. Plover 
called us in to breakfast. At the table Ned proved to 
all, even to Mrs. Plover, that he was quite recovered; 
and although Hal and I were not under the necessity 
of establishing such a proof, we fell to, heartily 
enough, on the bacon and biscuits and oatmeal por¬ 
ridge. 

Then, when breakfast was over, and we had de¬ 
clared our intention of putting off once more down the 
river, Mrs. Plover, seeing it was futile to press us to 
stay longer, ordered her husband to shoulder the big 
willow hamper she had prepared for us. “For I’m 
going with you as far as I can to see you off,” said 
she, putting on her sunbonnet. 

“An’ right you was, ole girl,” said Mr. Plover, 
taking up the basket. And with that we all started 
down towards the river. 

Well, you are to suppose there were a great many 
good-byes and good wishes passed between us; and, 
I am sure, on both sides there was something of sor¬ 
row, too. Little Nettie especially showed her regret 


WE SLEEP BETWEEN SHEETS 179 

at our going; the tears stood big in her brown eyes; 
and, as I turned to look back for the last time, she 
was standing on the river bank, one hand holding her 
mother’s skirts and the other waving us farewell. 

“Now,” said Mr. Plover, when the three of us were 
seated in the boat, “you got ever’thing, have you? 
You ain’t goin’ off an’ leavin’ nothin’ behind?” 

We assured him with thanks that we had forgot 
nothing. 

“I filled your lantern, too; that was mostly water 
you had. And mind you, Hal,” he added, his eyes 
lighting with a smile, “you keep a sharp eye on Bar- 
num, or he’ll be gettin’ away from you yet.” 

We were some little distance from shore when it 
suddenly dawned on me that we were forgetting some¬ 
thing—a very important bit of information. 

“Mr. Plover,” I called back, “ (Stop rowing a min¬ 
ute, Ned.) Can you tell us exactly where Hunter’s 
Ford is?” 

He stepped to the water’s edge and pointed down¬ 
stream. 

“You see that hill ’way down yonder where the 
river turns? Well, jest at the other end o’ that hill. 
They’s a big gravel-bar there, an’ the ford comes out 
on it. You cain’t miss her; the road cuts in between 
that hill an’ the next one.” 

11 Thank you, ’ ’ I answered. 11 Good-bye. Good-bye, 
Mrs. Plover and Nettie.” 


180 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“ Good-bye/ ’ they called, waving their hands. And 
Mrs. Plover added, “God bless you and keep you, 
boys.” 

God keep us indeed! We needed His keeping in the 
desperate and tragic acts that were to follow. 


CHAPTER XXI 


WE PLAN TO SPY UPON THE ENEMY 

4t T^TOW, fellows,” said Ned, when we had got on 
a short way, ‘ 4 what we have to do, I guess, is 
just keep on going till we hit some trace of Jerry 
Bottom and Buck Webb. We’ve got to watch pretty 
closely too; they’ll be trying to give us the slip, I 
think, for I shouldn’t wonder but they suspect we 
know something about the treasure.” 

* 4 Well,” said I, ‘‘if there’s any connection between 
Hunter’s Ford and Hunter’s Hill, we haven’t got 
much farther to go. But then, even if we do spot 
Bottom and Webb, it’ll be up to us to find Hunter’s 
Hill some way or other; we’ll not know for sure if 
they’re even near it.” 

“We’ll spy on ’em then!” cried Ned, his eyes kin¬ 
dling at the daring thought. “We’ll sneak up on 
their camp and listen to their talk!” 

“Gee!” said Hal; and for a while we were silent, 
pondering this bold and perilous measure. 

We were now approaching the bend of the river, 
and before us towered the hill Mr. Plover had pointed 
out, its enormous bulk, shaped like the back of an ele¬ 
phant, topping all the neighboring hills. Sloping 
181 


182 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


quite to the water’s edge, it extended along the river 
for almost half a mile. Its precipitous hang was 
densely wooded with many varieties of trees, so that 
it assumed the appearance of a gigantic wall of solid 
greenery. There was but one cliff througout its 
whole length, and this was directly in front of us: 
a high face of rock, fringed at the brink by tufts of 
shrubbery and dropping straight for nearly three 
hundred feet. Beneath it, at the margin of the river, 
the white sandstone was worn, by the action of flood- 
water, into huge irregular steps up which you might 
climb a little distance. 

From the highest of these steps there was an abrupt 
rise which appeared to terminate at the lip of a rather 
wide ledge. I say wide, for, although I was viewing 
it from a good stone’s cast up the river, I could not 
see its farther side where it met the base of the cliff 
proper. It was an apparently inaccessible shelf, be¬ 
ing too high to reach from below; and I was just 
wondering how we might get at it when a cry from 
Hal in the bow of the boat drove all thought of it 
from my mind. 

“Look there!” he exclaimed, pointing downstream. 
1 ‘ There’s the bar all right! ’ ’ 

Sure enough, far down at the other end of the hill 
lay the long stretch of gravel that Mr. Plover had 
told us of. Beyond it, deflecting slightly to the right, 
the river sparkled in a rapids; and above the rapids 
bulked another hill. 


WE PLAN TO SPY UPON ENEMY 183 


“Hurrah!” cried Ned, lying on his oars and look¬ 
ing over his shoulder. “The treasure’s within strik¬ 
ing distance now! Either this is Hunter’s Hill or the 
one down below.” 

“Don’t you be too sure of that,” cautioned Hal. 
“Neither of ’em’s Hunter’s Hill most likely.” 

“Well, we won’t be long finding out,” Ned replied. 
“Soon as we see Jerry Bottom—hello!” he broke 
off, “what’s that smoke hanging over the trees down 
there below the bar? Any money it’s Bottom! Now 
look here, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll just coast on 
down quite unconcerned till we reach the upper end of 
the bar. Then we’ll land on the opposite bank, just 
as if we were going to camp there. Once on shore and 
a fire built just to fool ’em, we can scout down along 
the river and see if we can catch any sight of them on 
the other side. It’ll be easy, too; we can’t mistake 
that blue boat of theirs with its red rim.” 

Well, this seemed a pretty sensible plan, so we con¬ 
tinued on our course till we got very nearly to the 
head of the gravel-bar. Here the current became 
somewhat swifter, though the river was still fairly 
wide; and I accordingly judged that we were in shal¬ 
low water and somewhere near the ford. The big hill 
on our right fell off rapidly into a kind of gorge, 
full of great trees and thick-growing underbrush, on 
the other side of which rose up the second hill. 

Hugging the left-hand bank, which was high and 
steep, we drifted along with our eyes on the alert for 


184 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


the road that must here run into the river. The shore 
above us was wooded and wild enough, with all the 
rank undergrowth of bottom-land. Tall horseweeds 
stood up like spears between the dense trees, and vines 
of fox-grape swung in long festoons from branch to 
branch, sometimes even hanging out over the water so 
that we must put them aside as we passed along. 

After a while Hal, who was sitting on the bow 
thwart, uttered an exclamation and told Ned to pull 
on his left. And then, almost before I knew it, the 
prow was resting in the middle of a wheel-rutted road. 
It seemed rather startling, amid such wild surround¬ 
ings, to have this workaday piece of civilization 
thrust thus suddenly upon us. 

“Well,” said Ned, “here’s Hunter’s Ford at all 
events. I wonder if you can see the road on the other 
side. Yep, there she is. Look there, straight across; 
she runs up into those woods like a path.” 

Hal had already stepped out of the boat and was 
standing with the painter in his hand. 

“Come on. We’re going to land, aren’t we?” 
said he. 

Ned and I got out, and the three of us walked up 
the road a short piece for a likely spot to pitch our 
pretended camp: pretended, because we weren’t sure 
yet whether we would remain or not; and it was our 
purpose to deceive Bottom and Webb. 

The road struck sharply up from the river to our 
left through a natural cut in the high bank; overhead 


WE PLAN TO SPY UPON ENEMY 185 


the arching trees with their pleached branches formed 
a closely woven roof, so that we were walking through 
a veritable tunnel of green. In a moment or two we 
reached the top of the slope and came out on a level 
tract of land riotous with verdant vegetation. Hither 
we determined to fetch our belongings and make a 
fire. 

“You fellows bring up the things,” said Ned; “and 
I’ll scout down the river a piece and see if I can’t 
catch a glimpse of Bottom and Webb.” 

Well, Hal and I set to work, then, to unload the 
boat; or rather, to be more accurate, I set to work, 
for Hal spent the time fussing with Barnum’s line 
in a vain endeavor to make it more secure. 

“We don’t want to lose bid Barnum,” he explained. 

“Well,” said I, “I’ve carried everything up now. 
You can at least get some wood while I start the fire.” 

But I had scarce got a blaze kindled when Ned 
bursts out of the wood on the other side of the road. 

“That’s them all right, that’s them!” he cried ex¬ 
citedly. 

“Did you see ’em?” I asked. 

“No,” he replied, “but I saw their boat—the blue 
one with the red rim. They’ve got it pulled on shore 
among a lot of bushes, trying to hide it; but I saw its 
stern as plain as day. They’re camping just above it 
at the foot of the hill; you can see the smoke going up 
over the willow-trees.” 

“Well,” said I, “what we’ve got to do is to hold 


186 


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a council of war. We’ve got to sit down right now 
and plan what we’re going to do.” And suiting ac¬ 
tion to word, I seated myself at the base of a shag- 
bark and continued. “Over there is the enemy, and 
here are we. We’re both after the treasure; but with 
this difference: they know where it is, and we don’t.” 

“They don’t know either,” Hal struck in; “they’ve 
got to find the triple-blazed oak first.” 

“True enough, but they know where Hunter’s Hill 
is, and we don’t. And that’s the biggest difference in 
the world. Now my plan’s this. You remember that 
high bluff we passed up at the turn of the river? 
Well, there’s a ledge on that bluff that would make 
a peach of a hiding-place, if we can only get to it. 
It’s just about nine o ’clock now; we ’ve got plenty of 
time to explore that ledge. We’ll let on we’re look¬ 
ing for a good place to fish, and take our time rowing 
up the river. If it’s necessary, we can even put in a 
line.” 

“O’ course we’ll put in a line,” Hal interrupted, 
but I went right on, ignoring him. 

“Then we’ll come back and loaf around till night¬ 
fall. The moon won’t rise till after ten; that’ll give 
us two good hours of darkness. Soon as it gets right 
dark one of us will cross the river, sneak up on their 
camp and try to find out where Hunter’s Hill is. The 
other two will row quietly up to the bluff, take our 
things up on the ledge, and then sink the boat with 
rocks. Next morning Bottom and Webb’ll think 


[WE PLAN TO SPY UPON ENEMY 187 


we’ve disappeared off the face of the earth; there 
won’t be a sign of us left. They’ll never be able to 
find us on that ledge.” 

I paused and looked at Ned triumphantly; even he, 
I considered, couldn’t improve on that plan. 

“Well, that is a good scheme, Bert,” he admitted 
at length. “Only, I wouldn’t say, Go to the ledge 
to-night. I wouldn’t go there at all if we could help 
it. If we disappear too suddenly, then they will know 
something’s up. Let’s stay right here as long as we 
can, letting on we’re just camping and fishing same 
as we were up the river. We’ll be free then to ex¬ 
plore Hunter’s Hill as much as we like, providing 
we don’t let ’em see us over there too often.” 

“And providing that’s Hunter’s Hill,” interjected 
Hal. 

“Of course, providing that, too,” assented Ned. 
“So I’d say,” he resumed, “that we stay right here. 
Now, in case anything does happen to-night—say 
they found out we were spying on ’em—let’s have 
everything stowed in the boat, ready to cut for the 
ledge.” 

“And leave the one spying to take care of him¬ 
self!” I protested. 

‘‘Well,’’ said Ned, ‘‘what else can we do? Besides, 
he’ll know where the ledge is and will make it there 
pretty close after the boat.” 

When we had discussed the matter a little longer, 
we agreed finally on this arrangement, and, the morn- 


188 


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ing being still young, Ned proposed that we cut some 
fishing-poles for a blind and row up the river to the 
bluff. “For,” said he, “we may discover that we 
can’t get on the ledge after all; then well have to 
change our plans, and we 11 have the whole afternoon 
to figure ’em out.” 

So Ned and I broke down six long paw-paw stalks 
while Hal detached Barnum from the boat’s end and 
secured him further up the river, tying the line to a 
root that an elephant couldn’t have budged. Then 
the three of us got aboard and started leisurely up¬ 
stream. 

All this while I had myself seen nothing of Bottom 
and Webb, except the white mist of their campfire 
smoke; and now even this had disappeared. They 
might have been in Siberia or Timbuctoo for any 
glimpse I had of them. For this reason, perhaps, I 
found myself not only regarding our whole adventure 
with much less anxiety than formerly but even en¬ 
joying it. The strange forebodings which I had ex¬ 
perienced two nights ago had now ceased to trouble 
me. Somehow or other I felt in my bones that, how¬ 
ever hazardous the business might be, we should have 
the top of it. Perhaps it was the warm sunshine and 
the bright water and the green woods that put me in 
this mood; perhaps it was our delightful stay at Paul 
Plover’s; or perhaps, as I say, it was because our ene¬ 
mies had so completely withdrawn from sight and 


WE PLAN TO SPY UPON ENEMY 189 


seemed no longer suspicious of our presence. At all 
events, I was alert and eager for the enterprise in 
hand and entertained not a doubt of its successful 
issue. Whether my happy presentiment was to be 
verified the succeeding pages of this narrative will, 
I trust, amply show. 

Gradually, as we neared the bend, I who was at the 
oars edged the boat in towards the cliff. Before we 
landed, however, we scanned the river up and down; 
but not a soul was in sight; only the long shining 
surface of water, with here and there a bird skimming 
above it and flashing in the sunlight. I grounded the 
boat on the lower side of the cliff, and the three of us 
got ashore. 

We made our way out on the horizontal erosions 
which I have called steps, but which indeed were any¬ 
thing but steps. Each of them was pretty steep and 
sloped off so abruptly into the next that it was only 
with some difficulty that we finally reached the base 
of the ledge: and here our progress was effectually 
blocked. For ten feet perhaps the rock stood straight 
up like a wall, so that there was not the least chance 
of our gaining the top of it from below. 

“■Well,” said Ned, 4 ‘let’s see if we can’t get to it 
from the side, up there on the hill.” 

“I don’t think we can,” said I; “it ends before it 
touches the hill.” 

Sure enough, after we had ascended a. little distance 


190 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


through the trees and bushes alongside the bluff, we 
saw not a sign of a ledge; there was only the moss- 
tufted perpendicular of the rock standing out from 
the hill and dropping sheer to the ground all the 
way down to the margin of the river. 

‘‘Wait!’’ cried Hal suddenly. “I’ve got an idea!” 
He ran over to an ash-tree that grew near the bluff 
and, putting his arms about the trunk, “Here, you 
fellows, give me a boost, ’ ’ he called. 

I guessed his purpose before he had thrown a leg 
through the first crotch. It was a large ash he had 
shinned, with branches running out in front of the 
cliff; it was just possible that we might reach the 
ledge by this route. 

“Hey, I’ve got her!” he cried, and as we looked 
up at him he went out among the leaves as nimbly 
as a squirrel. Although I understood what he was 
about, I confess my breath came short when, the 
limb bending under his weight, I saw him disappear 
beyond the shoulder of the cliff. At the same mo¬ 
ment back swung the limb again, and Hal’s voice 
sounded triumphantly: 

“Easy as pie! Come on, you fellows! This is a 
bird of a place!” 

Well, Ned and I were not to be daunted, and so, 
mustering our courage, up the tree we went and out 
over the limb that Hal had followed. Though at 
first it looked like a very daring feat, it was in fact 
quite safe. The limb swayed down to within a few 


WE PLAN TO SPY UPON ENEMY 191 


yards of the ledge, so that, hanging by onr hands, 
we had only a short space to drop. 

“Gee!” said Ned, looking around, “you couldn’t 
want a better place to hide.” 


CHAPTER, XXII 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 

I T was, in truth, an ideal spot for concealment. At 
both ends the ledge, which was as level as pave¬ 
ment and some five yards wide in the middle, tailed 
off into the steep wall of the precipice. When lying 
down or even sitting, we were quite invisible to any 
person on the river, and a view of us from either 
side was obstructed by the outstanding wings of the 
bluff. The only way we could possibly be discovered 
was from above; and the odds were against any one’s 
approaching near enough to the brow of the cliff to 
peer directly below. 

“That’s all fine,” said Hal, “but look at our 
branch; it’s a mile in the air. How’re we going 
to get off o ’ here ? ’ ’ 

But getting off was as easy as getting on—easier 
even. First, we let Hal down over the ledge till his 
feet almost touched the topmost slope; he slid a little 
then, but made the rest of the way safely. Next, Ned 
dropped over, and I, lying flat on the rock, held him 
by the hands as he and I had held Hal. Last of all, I 
went, and as I let myself fall, Ned caught me and 
steadied me. 

192 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


193 


“But how’re we going to get all those things up 
here ? ’ ’ asked Hal* as we started down the river again. 
“We can’t carry that basket over the limb.” 

“Shucks,” said Ned, ‘ 4 that’s easy. Haul her up 
with a piece of the trot-line.” 

“Geewhilikins,” Hal complained, “we won’t have 
any trot-line left at all after a while. Bert’s already 
cut off a big piece.” 

“And look what I got with it,” said I. 

“Besides,” added Ned, “most probably we won’t 
have to go up there after all. Most probably every¬ 
thing’ll come off smooth to-night. Remember, we’re 
going to the ledge only in case of necessity.” 

Hal seemed satisfied with this, but after a while he 
spoke again, putting a question that was very per¬ 
tinent indeed. 

“Who’s going to do the spyin’?” he asked. 

“Huh?” grunted Ned, pulling on the oars. 

“Who’s going to do the spyin’?” 

Ned ^topped in mid-stroke. 

“Gee, yes! I forgot that. Well, we’ll draw straws 
for it, I guess, soon’s we get back to camp.” 

We were pretty near camp then, and my eyes were 
keen for a sight of our enemies; but I could see noth¬ 
ing of them, not even their smoke. 

Well, the rest of the day went off quite unevent¬ 
fully, except perhaps that the task of eavesdropping 
fell to my lot; which for me was eventful enough, at 
least in its results, as you shall hear. After making 


194 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


an excellent meal on, and a large inroad into, Mrs. 
Plover’s hamper, we lay beneath the trees for a long 
time, resting and talking now about the treasure and 
now about our stay with the Plovers. I told Ned 
what Mr. Plover had related of his life, and he vowed 
that when he got enough money he would do some¬ 
thing handsome for the poor fellow. “It’s a shame,” 
said he, “that people like them have to live ’way out 
here in the wilderness. Soon as I make my pile I’m 
going to take them out of these backwoods and set 
them up in life. ’ ’ I said that at that rate they would 
likely remain just where they were; which nettled 
Ned a trifle, I think, for he didn’t say anything in 
return. 

After a space, then, at Hal’s suggestion, Ned and 
I set out the line, while he himself went off on his 
mysterious mission for worms. Ned had protested 
he didn’t see any use in worms, as our fishing was 
only a blind. But Hal declared that fishing was 
fishing, and that if we were going to put in a line we 
ought to put it in properly: and that meant bait it. 
“Well, after the line was duly baited, which was along 
towards sundown, we ate supper and then made up 
our belongings into bundles so that we might carry 
them more easily to the boat; if, indeed, it should be 
necessary to seek our hiding-place. 

At length the sun sank below the horizon of hills, 
and we waited nervously for the lingering twilight to 
melt into darkness. It seemed to me that the night 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


195 


would never come; for, though I knew I was going on 
an extremely perilous errand, I had screwed myself 
up to it and was in a sweat to be off. 

Meantime we built a great fire so that our enemies 
might know we were tarrying in the same place and 
not be led to suspect us. They themselves were 
late in building theirs—they had probably been out 
all day, searching for the triple-blazed oak—and, as 
the darkness closed in, we began to fear that they 
had decamped. At length, however, there appeared 
a tiny bright glow among the trees on the other shore, 
and we knew that they had returned. 

“Now’s the time,” said I. 

“No,” said Hal, “wait a bit. Let ’em cook supper 
and get to talking.” 

A quarter of an hour later, after rehearsing our 
plan once more with Ned and Hal, I set out at last. 
I walked down the road to the ford, intending to wade 
the river. This was rather dangerous, I knew, for 
even in a moonless night the starshine renders objects 
fairly visible on water; but I was determined to run 
the risk, as in this way I should have dry clothes 
when I arrived at the other side. 

But fortune favored me at the start; when I 
reached the border of the river and looked up, not a 
star was to be seen. An obscuring veil of cloud 
covered the entire heavens; so dark was everything 
indeed that I could scarcely discern the treetops on 
the opposite shore. 


196 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


Hastily doffing my clothes, I rolled them into a 
bundle and stepped into the river. I made my way 
over very easily, the water hardly getting above my 
waist. Once on the bar, I didn’t pause to dress but 
hurried, gingerly enough, across the stretch of gravel 
to the black shelter of the woods. Here I put on 
my clothes again, and then cast about me for the 
safest way to sneak upon the enemy. Their camp¬ 
fire was downstream, perhaps a hundred yards (I had 
seen it clearly from the ford), and just at the foot 
of the hill not half a stone’s cast from the river. 
I thought it best to advance as far as I could along 
the sandy margin of the bar, and then to go up 
through the trees so that I might come down on them 
from above; I did not wish to put the river at my 
back and thus have my way of escape cut off. But 
this method of approach cost me very dear, as you 
shall presently see. 

I made the end of the gravel-bar without mishap, 
and then began very cautiously to work my way 
diagonally up the hill. My progress was slow, for 
it was so dark under the trees that I must feel my 
footing at every step. I had now lost direct sight 
of the fire, but I could see its ruddy light reflected 
on the leaves beneath me. Our enemies were evi¬ 
dently camping at the foot of some sort of dip or 
sharp declivity near the base of the hill; and this 
was the reason I was no longer able to perceive their 
fire. 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


197 


I continued on my way very warily until I was al¬ 
most abreast of the camp, though by this time a con¬ 
siderable distance up the hill. Then I began my 
descent, aiming to reach a point just above the fire 
whence, by worming myself forward, I should at last 
be near enough to overhear the conversation. But I 
had not taken two steps when, my foot slipping, a 
small stone dislodged and rolled a short way down 
the hillside. It could not have made much noise, but 
to my ears it was like the crash of a landslide. With 
my heart in my mouth I crouched behind a tree and 
waited. For five minutes perhaps I remained there, 
my ears pricked for the merest sound. But I heard 
nothing. 

Once more, then, I resumed my descent, and this 
time all went well. I was approaching very near 
now; the firelight among the trees was growing 
brighter and larger. Suddenly, as I crept around 
the big-bellied bole of a sycamore, I saw the tops of 
flames and, silhouetted against them, the rim of the 
bank under which the two treasure-hunters were 
camping. The bank must have been some half dozen 
feet high, to judge by the fire, and I thought if I 
could get close to the edge of it I should have safe 
vantage-ground for my eavesdropping. 

Stealthily I worked my way nearer and yet nearer, 
advancing slantwise down the hill until I had gained 
a point about ten yards distant from the brink of 
the sudden drop. Here I paused. I could see the 


198 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


position of the camp pretty well now. They had 
certainly pitched upon a likely spot. It was as if 
nature had dug out a neat circle back into the hill, 
of a diameter of some twenty feet. The escarpment 
all around was cut so steep that the fire in the center 
lighted the enclosed area like an electric arc. From 
where I lay I could see the leafy roof of a lean-to 
which they had erected against the right side of the 
surrounding bank, and beyond the fire a blackened 
coffee-pot and a couple of dirty pans—the remains of 
their supper, I supposed. 

But as I still hesitated, craning my neck, a fearing 
wonder began to lay hold on me: I had detected thus 
far not the slightest sound of a human voice! Was 
it possible that they had foreseen our move and were 
now lying in wait somewhere in the woods behind 
me ? My heart stood still at the bare thought! 

Kecovering myself, then, I determined at all events 
to see whether they were in the camp. Softly I 
crept forward till I commanded a view of the whole 
spot save a few yards just below the bank. Beneath 
the lean-to was a pile of dry leaves for bedding and 
two rumpled blankets. Some clothing lay beside the 
blankets, and a number of packages strewed the 
ground: evidently our enemies were careless of their 
stores. 

But this was all I could see. Bottom and Webb 
had apparently gone up on the hill again, if they 
were not lurking somewhere in ambush. Or perhaps 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


199 


they had already discovered the treasure and at this 
very moment were busy unearthing it under cover 
of the dark. Convinced that this latter was the case, 
I was about to withdraw when all of a sudden a great 
guffaw of laughter rocked the night, and I heard the 
words, bellowed in Jerry Bottom’s stentorian voice: 

‘ ‘High—low—jack —and game! Buck, did these 
blessed ears o’ mine hear you talkin’ of seven-up! 
Pass the bottle on that, Buck lad!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

my night adventure— Continued 

I KNELT there quite paralyzed with fear. The 
laugh seemed to rise from the earth beneath me, 
and had I not recognized, in the words that followed 
it, the voice of Jerry Bottom, I should have believed 
the spot was haunted and that a jovial ghost was 
enjoying his own joke in the heart of the hill. As it 
was, for the first few seconds I could not tell whence 
the voice had come; and then, all in a flash, I under¬ 
stood. 

The two of them were not ten feet away, just below 
me at the foot of the bank! Still, even if they should 
stand up, I was fairly screened from view, for I was 
lying behind a cluster of buckberry bushes. 

“Ah,” said Bottom’s voice again, “that stuff do 
do a man’s heart good—when took temp’rately, to be 
sure, as I alius say.” 

“Temp’rately!” growled the other scornfully. 
“That’s what you alius say! Why, drot yer hide, 
ain’t I see you that fur gone, even when a boy, you 
warn’t knowin’ of yer own mother? But temp¬ 
’rately, you says! I reckon this here wild-goose chase 
is temp ’rate too, hain’t it ? ” 

200 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


201 


“Now looky here, Buck,” answered Bottom in a 
conciliating tone, “don’t you go a-gittin’ riled ’cause 
I beat you at seven-up. What’s two bits, I’d like to 
know, with a fort’n’ o’ gold stacked up somewheres 
in these here hills? An’ as to wild-goose chases, 
who’ll be the loser, I wonder, if it is a wild-goose 
chase? me as killed four men in the chasin’ er you 
that goes back peace’bly to Kimley? But it ain’t a 
wild-goose chase, I says, an’ you knows it. Would a 
man turn liar an’ him a-fetchin’ of his last breath 
this side o’ Judgment Seat? Not him, says you, an’ 
right you wuz! If ever I heard a man speakin’ the 
straight-line truth it wuz him what I hauls out o ’ the 
Osage fifteen year ago this very month; more dead’n 
alive he wuz too. Leastways he on’y lives long 
enough to hand me that thar’ cipher. ‘Pardner, 
says he, ‘you saved my life, leastways what thar’ is of 
it. I’m not long fer this world,’ says he. ‘I’ll cash 
in d’rectly now. This here fever’s a-poundin’ the 
brains out o’ me. But b’fore I go—here, take this. 
Hit means gold, man! gold, gold, gold!’ an’ he went 
off a-ravin’ an’ so died. Now wuz that thar’ man 
a-lying. No, says you, he warn’t; an’ no, I says. 
Pass the bottle, Buck; my whistle’s dry. Temp- 
’rately, temp’rately, lad. . . . So, ah!” 

“But grantin’ all that,” objected Webb again, this 
time not so angrily (owing to the whiskey perhaps), 
“grantin’ he wuz a-tellin’ the truth, how does we 
know this here’s Hunter’s Hill? All I say is, yon- 


202 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


der’s Hunter’s Ford. But you’re only guessin’ about 
Hunter’s Hill. Besides, we been a-wearin’ shoe 
leather out on these rocks fer two whole days, an’ 
ain’t see a ghost of a blazed tree. Hit looks mighty 
funny, it does.” 

“Now thar’ you’re talkin’ sense,” answered Bot¬ 
tom, “thar’ you’re flashin’ a spark er two o’ the ole 
Buck Webb o’ my boyhood days—happy, innocent 
days they wuz, too, as I’ll never see again.” (Here 
the hypocritical old knave heaved a great sigh.) 

. . . “Wa-al, this here’s Hunter’s Ford, says you; 
but this here hain’t Hunter’s Hill, you says. Right 
you wuz Buck, ole pard, this ain’t Hunter’s Hill. 
Over yonder’s Hunter’s Hill, what we should ’a’ hex- 
plored first. How does I know that, says you? I 
knows that ’cause I been over this whole State, an’ 
thar’ ain’t another thing called Hunter inside its 
blessed bound’ries, ’cept a pigsty of a burg up on 
the Wabash that ain’t nowheres near a hill. Not but 
what I ain’t ready to foiler yer advice, Buck. You 
alius did have a right smart head on yer shoulders. 
Why, looky now, if I hadn’t run across you in Kim- 
ley, where’d you an’ me be now? You’d be still 
a-blastin’ the blessed rock, you’d be. An’ I’d prob’ly 
have that double-dealin’ Crawford saddled on me 
yet, an’ him a-knowin’ of the cipher, too, an’ ready 
to cut any minute soon’s he got wind o’ Hunter’s 
Hill. But I ’low he won’t do much euttin’ now, 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


203 


will he, Buck?” And the monster gave a chuckle 
that made my blood run cold. 

I had now got all the information I wanted and 
was eager to be off. But I was afraid to budge an 
inch until they should begin talking again; and they 
remained silent for a considerable while. So I lay 
there, hearing my own heart beat and wondering that 
the sound of it did not betray me. Once some sort 
of insect crawled up on my neck, and its ticklish feel 
nearly sent me into spasms. But I dug my fingers 
into the soil, set my jaws, and got my nerves under 
control. 

At length Bottom’s voice broke the silence by re¬ 
questing another pull at the bottle. Here was my 
chance, and I began to worm back up the hill. But 
I had not stirred half a foot when his next words 
brought me to a hearkening halt. 

11 1 shouldn’t wonder now if them kids over yonder 
wuz up to somethin’.” Here he uttered a frightful 
oath. “I’ll wring their blessed necks if they comes 
mixin’ in this business.” 

“But you said you pumped ’em dry up the river,” 
said Webb. 

At this point, in my eagerness to catch every syl¬ 
lable, I moved forward slightly. In the act my 
hand dislodged a pebble that popped from its bed 
and rolled over the brink of the bank. I heard it 
plump sharply upon a box below. 


204 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Hullo!” cried Bottom, “what’s that?” 

I was just on the verge of springing to my feet 
and bolting. If I had done so, I could have made 
my escape easily. But thinking that I might yet get 
away unobserved, I flattened myself against the 
ground, scarce daring to draw breath. 

“Fetch my pistol, Buck, an’ that thar’ box o’ 
catterdges in my coat,” said Bottom. “Blow me if 
I don’t have a shot up that hill.” 

Here was imminent danger indeed! I should have 
taken to my heels at once; but somehow or other my 
strength seemed suddenly to have failed me. I could 
only lie there quaking, with my heart in my shoes. 
I saw Webb go over to the lean-to, rummage among 
the clothes, and bring back a huge revolver and a 
box of cartridges. These he dropped on the card- 
table (or whatever the tell-tale pebble had struck), 
and I could hear Bottom spill out the bullets, mut¬ 
tering and cursing to himself. 

“Thar’ now,” said he at length, “I reckon this 
here Colt’ll smoke out that ’possum.” 

The next moment I was looking through the buck- 
berry stems directly into Jerry Bottom’s great flushed 
face. Then something long and black and shiny 
swung up before my eyes; there was a flash of fire 
and an ear-shattering report. With a frightened cry 
I leaped to my feet and bounded off up the hillside, 
taking a diagonal course down the river. 

“A ’possum, sure enough, by—!” cried Bottom, 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


205 


and let fly at me once more with that cannon of his, 
the bullet clipping through the leaves just over my 
head. “Come on, Buck! after him, lad!” 

I had the start of them by only twenty yards or so, 
for even as he fired the second shot Bottom had cleared 
the bank and was racing in pursuit. I could hear 
them behind me now crashing up through the under¬ 
brush and swearing all the oaths of hell. I tore on, 
scratched and bleeding, staving through bushes, 
stumbling over logs, and just missing by the merest 
luck the thick trees that covered the hillside. It was 
so dark that I could scarcely see a hand’s breadth 
before me; and yet all the time my pursuers hung 
close on my heels. I was wondering how it was that 
they could follow me so truly when I suddenly realized 
that I was making enough noise for a deaf man to 
follow me. What with the swishing and snapping 
of the foliage and the rolling of stones down the hill, 
I might as well have been shouting them directions. 
I saw at once that I should be overtaken at this rate, 
for already they had gained on me. With quick de¬ 
termination I changed my course and plunged down 
towards the river. 

“To the river, Buck! He’s makin’ fer the river!” 
roared out Bottom, and I heard him smashing like 
an avalanche down the hillside. 

When I reached the level ground between the water 
and the foot of the hill I paused for three heart-beats, 
at a stick what to do. The stars were twinkling 


206 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


brightly now, and in the glimmering dark I saw that 
the bank in front of me was very sparsely wooded. 
I could run more easily, but then I offered a better 
shot, too. Still, there was nothing for it but to take 
to my heels again; and that I did, and not a moment 
too soon, either. With eager cries, like hounds that 
pick up the scent afresh, Bottom and Webb burst 
down upon the bank and raced after me. 

“Stop, you little -” but here followed a per¬ 

fect spout of vile epithets which ended in another 
detonation from the pistol. This time the bullet sang 
past my ear, not three inches away, I think. 

Then, before I knew it, I had broken headlong 
through a clump of bushes and fallen prone upon my 
face on the other side. But I was not hurt, only 
dazed a little. Recovering myself in a trice, I took 
the situation in at a glance. The bushes formed a 
sort of irregular hedge that ran quite to the brink 
of the river. Beyond, the ground was even more 
devoid of concealment than what I had already tra¬ 
versed. My position was become desperate. Within 
five seconds my pursuers would be upon me. 

Like a flash my resolve was taken. Stooping, I 
darted towards the river, determined to plunge in. 
At the edge of the low bank my foot struck some¬ 
thing hard, and, while I yet reeled in recovering my 
balance, I changed my mind. It was the work of 
only an instant to grasp the rock—for rock it was— 
and hurl it out into the water. At the sound of the 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


207 


splash Bottom, who was now charging through the 
hushes, bellowed out, * 4 He’s dove in, Buck! Watch 
fer his head!” bounded to the margin of the river 
and stood, panting and peering intently, not five feet 
from where I lay. His pistol still smoked in his 
hand, and his under jaw protruded wickedly. His 
whole attitude breathed murder, and I knew I should 
receive but short shrift once I fell into his hands. 

Meantime Webb had run further down the shore. 
Suddenly he uttered a cry and pointed out upon the 
surface. 

“Yonder he is, Jerry! See his head? ’bout thirty 
feet out an’ swimmin’ with the current!” 

Now what kind saint it was that sent that log down 
the river just in the nick of this emergency I shall 
never know, I suppose, until I get to heaven. Per¬ 
haps it was Our Lady; if so, it will not be the greatest 
favor I shall have to thank her for. At all events, 
the two desperadoes were pouring forth their curses 
upon a senseless bit of wood while I, their game, was 
lying in the bushes as safe as a rabbit. Save that 
my peril was by no means past, I could almost have 
found it in my heart to laugh at them. 

4 ‘Take that, you little spyin’ devil!” cried Bottom, 
and fires at the chunk of floating wood. 

“Missed, by thunder!” exclaimed Webb. “Here, 
down here, Jerry! Here’s a better shot!” 

But I didn’t wait for the better shot. The two of 
them were thirty yards off now, and the uproar 


208 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


they were making allowed me to creep back through 
the bushes unobserved. As I emerged on the other 
side, bang! went the pistol again, and I heard Webb 
cry, 4 ‘Took him that time!” and Bottom’s answer, 
prefaced by a curse of disappointment, “Took; a 
blessed bit o’ driftwood, that’s what I took.” 

I didn’t linger to hear more. With fear to spur 
me on, I showed a wonderful clean pair of heels, I 
can tell you. The turf was soft and springy, and 
deadened all sound of my retreating steps. On, on 
I raced, while the voices of my foes grew fainter and 
fainter. Presently, blowing like a horse, I came 
abreast of the circular escarpment in the hillside and 
paused briefly to look in. The fire still blazed, il¬ 
luminating the enclosure very plainly. I glanced 
swiftly around. At the foot of the back wall stood 
a box. It was littered with cards, and upon the 
cards were scattered some small objects that gleamed 
brightly in the firelight. The next second I had 
leaped inside and was bending over the improvised 
card-table. The objects I had seen were bullets: our 
enemies’ entire supply perhaps, for on the ground I 
found a little green box of them freshly opened. 
Suppressing a cry of joy, I put the box in my pocket 
and swept the rest off the table and into my cap. 
Then, once more, I resumed my flight and didn’t pull 
up till I reached the gravel-bar. 

Here I scanned the river for some sight of Ned and 
Hal, who, I knew, must have started ere this for our 


MY NIGHT ADVENTURE 


209 


ledge. But not a glimpse of them did I get, at least 
up the middle of the stream where the starlight lay. 
The shore-line was shrouded in shadow; doubtless 
they were taking advantage of this protection. 

I put off again, running easily along the bar close 
to the skirt of the woods. As I trotted forward I 
fell to wondering what Ned and Hal thought when 
they heard the pistol shots and the shouting. They 
must certainly have supposed me blown to pieces after 
all that cannonading; and I chuckled to myself as I 
pictured their surprise when I should drop down upon 
the ledge. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

NEXT MORNING ON THE LEDGE 

H APPY as a lark over my escape and especially 
at the good tidings I was bringing, I patted 
forward with as light a foot as ever boy set to earth. 
After a little I came to the upper extremity of the 
bar which lay under the north end of the first hill— 
Hunter’s Hill now for sure, I thought. Here I paused 
long enough to fling Bottom’s bullets far out into the 
stream. “You won’t smoke any ’possums out with 
those, Jerry Bottom,” I said; and with that I began 
to make my way along the base of the hill. 

It was rougher going here, as the hang of the ground 
was mortally steep; and several times I came within 
an ace of sliding into the river. But although the way 
was difficult and my progress, in consequence, much 
slower, I succeeded at all events in getting forward 
without mishap. Once, as I mounted a broad boulder 
that lay athwart my path and stopped to take breath, 
a sudden brightness fell upon the trees that lined the 
opposite shore; and, although I could see it not, I 
knew that the moon was rising over the hill above me. 

It was some twenty minutes later, I suppose, when 
I arrived at the base of the cliff at last. I stood 
there for a moment or two, giving ear. Sure enough, 
210 


NEXT MORNING ON THE LEDGE 211 


after a space, I caught the sound of low voices; Ned 
and Hal were on the ledge. 

Wishing to make the surprise as complete as pos¬ 
sible, I did not call out but stealthily ascended the 
hill alongside the bluff. I had little difficulty in 
locating the ash-tree as the moonbeams were falling 
in slanting shafts all about me. I shinned the trunk 
as softly as I could, and had just got half way out on 
our 4 * entrance ” limb, and could already see them sit¬ 
ting below on the ledge, when Hal jumped suddenly 
to his feet. 

‘ ‘ The rifle, Ned! 9 ’ he cried in a low tone. ‘‘ There ’s 
something in that tree!” 

“It’s me, you little son of a gun,” I called down. 
“And don’t you go shooting. I’ve had enough bul¬ 
lets fired at me to-night.” And thereupon I scram¬ 
bled further out, swung down, and dropped to the 
ledge. 

Well, I was mighty glad to see those two fellows 
again, I can tell you! And they were mighty glad to 
see me too, I think, for they wrung my hands and 
slapped me on the back and didn’t ask a question for 
a full minute; and this, I take it, was the surest sign 
of their rejoicing at my safe return. 

“Well,” said Ned at length, “did you find any¬ 
thing out ? ’ ’ 

“I found out that they don’t know anything more 
about Hunter’s Hill than we do,” I replied. I saw 
Ned’s face fall, and Hal said, “Aw gee!” 


212 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“But,” I continued, “they thought it was one 
of the two hills on either side of Hunter's Ford. 
They've already discovered it isn't the other. So it 
must be this one we’re standing on!” 

At these words Ned and Hal brightened percep¬ 
tibly. Then, sitting down, I related the story of my 
adventure from beginning to end. 

“Gee!” said Ned, “that was great! I wish I’d 
been in your shoes.” 

“You could 'a' been in my shoes and welcome,” 
said I. “I don’t want any more bullets whistling 
about my ears.” 

“Well, but do you think this is Hunter’s Hill?” 
asked Hal, who had a habit of coming to the point. 

“Of course it’s Hunter’s Hill, you crazy,” Ned 
replied. ‘ ‘ What do you suppose Bottom's been doing 
for the past fifteen years? If this isn’t Hunter’s 
Hill, there’s no Hunter’s Hill in Missouri.” 

“That’s just it,” returned Hal, “it mightn’t be in 
Missouri at all.” 

“In South Africa then, I suppose,” Ned mocked, 
“or maybe Australia.” 

There were a great many places nearer than either, 
but I didn’t say anything, and let Ned have his way; 
though, to be sure, Hal was right. 

“Now,” resumed Ned, after having thus established 
the identity of Hunter’s Hill, “we’ll have to do some 
scouting to-morrow. We’ll have to spy on Bottom 
and Webb and watch their movements. They’ll 


NEXT MORNING ON THE LEDGE 213 


probably search one side of the hill, and we’ve got 
to find which side they’re on; then we’ll search the 
other.” 

“But suppose,” said I, “Bottom takes one side and 
Webb the other?” 

“Well,” Ned replied, “in that case we’ll take the 
top. Most likely that’s where the triple-blazed oak 
is anyway. Gee, fellows!” he added rapturously, 
“supposing we find her first crack out o’ the box!” 

Well, as you may imagine, we continued talking 
for a long while after that. Ned’s enthusiasm soon 
dispelled my doubts about Hunter’s Hill, and even 
Hal waxed somewhat sanguine; though, to tell the 
truth, he never quite relinquished his misgivings. 
Counting his chickens before they were hatched, Ned 
had already formed a dozen schemes for spending 
our treasure gold. One I remember distinctly: the 
Western Stars were to get Spalding-made uniforms, 
a prodigious supply of bats and balls and gloves, and 
travel up to Washington for a game three weeks from 
that next Sunday. 

Very likely we should have kept on building air- 
castles until morning had not Hal suggested turning 
in. There wasn’t much to turn in to, except our 
blankets. But after I had wrapped myself up in 
mine I was tolerably comfortable; though the rock 
did feel more than ordinarily hard. I suppose our 
luxurious quarters of the previous night had some¬ 
what spoiled me. 


214 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


I thought at first that I should sleep like a log, 
for I was dead tired. But what with the excitement 
of my recent adventure and what with thinking on 
the treasure, it was long indeed before slumber came. 
I lay there for I don’t know how many minutes— 
nearly an hour, I think—staring up at the broad 
moon that swam above me. I slept at last, however, 
but it was an uneasy restless sleep. For the greater 
part of the night I tossed about on my hard bed, 
troubled by a multitude of outlandish dreams. Colos¬ 
sal images of Jerry Bottom stalked before my mind: 
sometimes he would be shooting a pistol as long as 
a fence-rail, and I heard the report even in my sleep; 
at other times, again, he would be carrying on his 
shoulders enormous ingots of gold and crossing the 
river at a stride, like the giant in the fairy-tale. 
Sometimes, too, Ned and Hal and I would be stand¬ 
ing on the top of a mountain of gold-pieces, and 
far below two little figures were looking up at us 
and shaking their fists. 

Well, these absurd phantasms gradually passed 
away, and towards morning I fell into a profound 
and restful slumber. 

What awakened me I did not for the moment 
know. I knew only that it was broad day and that 
the sun was shining on the trees across the river. 
Then, just as I was on the point of springing 
to my feet, I heard a guarded voice below the 
ledge: 


NEXT MORNING ON THE LEDGE 215 


“What do you make o’ them scratches then? 
They’re fresh enough.” 

You may fancy my dismay; it was the voice of 
Bottom! 

“But what ’ud bring ’em up thar’f I tell you, 
Jerry, them kids is skipped, an’ glad to git away too. 
We’re a couple o’ fools fer heatin’ up an’ down this 
river. ’ ’ 

It was Webb that spoke, and I prayed that his 
word might prevail. But at Bottom’s answer my 
heart sank within me. 

“Hit may be as you’re right, Buck; but you just 
run her nose agin the shore, an’ let me have a look. 
I got one catterdge left in this ole howitzer as I means 
to pump into that imp o’ hell what hooked the rest 
of ’em.” 

Upon that I heard the dip of oars and then a step 
on the rock below. I glanced about me, distraught 
and terrified. What should I do? What could I 
do ? Ned was at my side, but I dared not wake him. 
The least noise would betray us. Then, all at once, 
I realized where Hal was lying. He had rolled in his 
sleep to within two feet of the brink of the ledge. If 
he so much as raised his head, we were gone. At 
any moment he and Ned might awake of their own 
accord; and they would be sure to yawn or say some¬ 
thing before I could warn them. You may fancy 
my agony of mind! 

“It’s pretty steep here, Buck, sure enough,” said 


216 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


Bottom’s voice again, still in the same low, careful 
tone. “But if I k’n make this next step now I’ll be 
able to touch the top a’most.” 

There followed, then, a grating sound, as of hob¬ 
nails scraping stone; and I knew that Bottom had 
reached the last ridge of rock. 

Determined to sell our lives as dearly as possible, 
I stealthily stretched out my arm for the rifle that 
stood against the cliff, and drew it towards me. 
Much as I dreaded taking human life, I was resolved 
to fire so soon as Bottom’s head appeared above the 
ledge: it was his blood or mine, that was certain; 
and I had the right of self-defense. 

All this while I kept my eyes darting from Ned to 
Hal, from Hal to the edge of the rock and back again 
to Ned. I must not only be on the alert for the first 
sight of Bottom but I must watch my two companions 
besides. At their least stir I meant to warn them if 
I could. But I had little hope of succeeding, with 
our foes so close upon us. Altogether, it was a tortur¬ 
ing business, the most nerve-racking ordeal I have 
ever experienced. 

Presently, as I lay there with the rifle held before 
me on the ledge, I saw the grimed tips—more like hid¬ 
eous stumps—of four huge fingers. Up over the top 
they stretched and then settled, clawing, on the rock, 
like the blunted black talons of some foul vulture. 

“I just kin reach her, Buck,” said Bottom’s voice. 
“Come up here an’ gimme a lift.” 


NEXT MORNING ON THE LEDGE 217 


At these words, sounding so terribly close that I 
marveled Hal did not wake, my courage almost for¬ 
sook me. Up to the present I had entertained half a 
hope that Bottom might yet give over his attempt to 
scale our retreat. But now I knew that he was fixed 
in his purpose. Breathing a hasty prayer to Our 
Lady, I cuddled the rifle-butt to my shoulder, drew 
a bead on a point one inch above the ugly fingers, and 
waited. 

I had not long to wait. Webb, being more agile 
than Bottom, quickly mounted the treacherous slopes 
of rock, though not without a little grumbling at his 
companion's “fool ideers." Then, after a moment, 
another hand appeared over the top of the ledge, and 
in its grasp was a long black pistol. 

By this time my heart was going like a trip¬ 
hammer, but the rifle in my hands was as steady as 
death. Death it was that I meant to deal that mur¬ 
derer so soon as his great evil face showed above the 
brink. I had steeled myself to it, though it was an 
awful act. 

“All right, Jerry, I got yer leg. Now hup you 
goes!" 

My fingers trembled on the trigger. 

But up he didn’t go. There was a sudden sharp 
cry of dismay, followed by one tremendous oath; 
then, amidst a roaring volley of profanity, the two 
rogues bowled down the steep incline and pitched 
with a loud splash full into the river. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


MAZED by this sudden turn of circumstances, 



as fortunate as it was sudden, I lay there for 


a space quite powerless to act. 

At the first loud cry of our enemies Hal had sprung 
to a sitting posture, rubbing his eyes; and Ned, at 
my elbow, had raised his head. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked sleepily. 

At his question my presence of mind returned, and 
breathing the one word, “Bottom!” I threw myself 
across the ledge and jerked Hal flat upon the rock. 
* ‘ Down! ” I whispered, ** for your life!’ 9 

Prom the first I judged that Hal had been 
unobserved, for even now the two blackguards were 
still floundering about in the water in their 
endeavor to gain a foothold on the slippery rock; 
yet I could not be certain of it. 

Not a dozen words were spoken, however, ere my 
doubts were dispelled. 

“See thar’,” spluttered Webb, spitting water, 
“that’s what come’s o’ yer fool ideers! Try in’ to 
climb a cliff what a hackerbat couldn’t set foot on! 
You’re satisfied now, I hope!” Here he fell to 


218 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


219 


cursing again; he cursed things in general at the 
start, gradually getting more specific as his vocabu¬ 
lary waxed richer; we three, the cliff, the river, 
Hunter ’s Hill, the treasure—all came in for a share; 
and finally he rounded off with as fearful a fusillade 
of invective against Jerry Bottom as that rascal had 
ever received. 

“Easy now, Buck friend, easy!” sounded Bottom’s 
suave voice (who, I suppose, by this time had re¬ 
gained the bank). “I ’low you knowed a river wuz 
down here, and I ’low you knows who tumbled us into 
her.” 

Webb spat again, and I fancied I could almost 
see the snarl on his dog-like features. 

“An’ I ’low I knows, too, the biggest id jut out of 
a madhouse in this here State,” he answered. 

“Which ain’t complimentin’ yourself none neither, 
Buck lad,” returned Bottom as sweetly as ever. 
“But you always wuz touch an’ go, you wuz; I’ll 
say that fer you. So I’ll forgit them endearin’ titles 
you wuz namin’ me by. I’m ready to call quits. 
I’ll even go a step fu’ther, an’ say you wuz right; 
I wuz a bit of a fool fer wantin’ to climb that thar’ 
ledge. Them kids ain’t up thar’, you says; an’ right 
you wuz, Buck. They’re clippin’ down the river, says 
you; which same is not on’y right, says I, but 
nat’ral too. Come now, I reckon that’s handsome 
enough. Let’s be a-gittin’ back to camp an’ dryin’ 
off. Then we’ll beat this here hill.” 


220 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


You may fancy the load that was taken off my 
mind when I heard these words. Hal, who was still 
lying near the edge of the rock, turned his head and 
grinned. 

To his companion’s overtures of amity Webb 
returned a grumbling answer; and shortly after we 
heard them both embark in their skiff—Bottom still 
admitting that he was a “bit of an ole fool”—and 
put off down the river. 

But we dared not stir for some time; we surmised 
they must still be casting an occasional eye back 
at the ledge, especially Bottom for all his protesta¬ 
tions. Besides, we were not sure but that the whole 
proceeding was a feint, a piece of strategy, to catch 
us off our guard and have us reveal ourselves. But 
as the sound of the oars diminished in the distance we 
gradually became more assured of our safety, and 
even crept to the brink of the ledge. 

Our view of the river downstream was partially 
cut off by the right wing of the cliff; yet upon the 
surface that was visible to us there was no trace of 
a boat. Our enemies had vanished utterly. 

“Gee,” said Ned, “that was a close shave!” 

“Well,” said I, “at least we know they’ve only 
got one bullet left. I must have made a clean sweep 
of their ammunition all right.” 

“Gosh,” said Hal, “it’s a wonder they didn’t see 
our boat.” 

“Didn’t you sink her?” I cried, astonished. 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


221 


“Of course we sunk her, but the river slants so 
steep from the shore we were afraid to let her down 
more than a foot under water/’ 

“Well,” said- Ned, “they didn’t see her, and 
that’s enough. A miss is as good as a mile. Now 
let’s get a bite to eat and begin exploring. We’ve 
got to get a wiggle on us if we want to find the 
triple-blazed oak before they do.” 

Not daring to build a fire, we ate a cold breakfast 
of ham-sandwiches which we found in Mrs. Plover’s 
hamper; and mighty good they were, too. After 
that, Ned was all for striking out at once, but I said 
that we ought to tarry a little longer, as our enemies 
might still be watching the ledge; there was no tell¬ 
ing what trick they might have in their sleeve, I 
said; and Hal was of my own way of thinking, too. 
So Ned gave in, chafing a good deal at what he 
called our “conservative policy.” (Ned always was 
a good hand at using long words.) 

“Well,” said he, “if you fellows are going to hang 
around here all day, I’ll clean the gun. May as well 
be doing something.” 

He ejected our three remaining cartridges, took 
the rifle apart, and began to swab the bore with the 
wooden ramrod. This, of course, was a wholly unnec¬ 
essary operation, as the gun had been cleaned several 
times since the shooting of the turkey. But Ned 
was in a tiff, so we let him have his way. 

At length, however, more to appease him than 


222 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


because we thought the coast entirely clear, Hal 
and I said we were ready; and taking our newly 
furbished weapon, we slipped over the brow of the 
ledge and set out on our treasure hunt. 

As we came around the northern end of the cliff, 
Hal halted with a low cry of amazement and peered 
into the river. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked, whisking about. 

“She’s gone!” he exclaimed. “Clean out of 
sight! ’’ 

Sure enough, our boat, which he and Ned had sub¬ 
merged, had slid out and down on the shelving 
rock to the bed of the river. That was the last of 
the good ship Big Cat; we never saw her again. 

“That’s the end of our trip, I guess,” said I. 

“Aw gee!” desponded Hal, “and us with a trot¬ 
line to run, too!” 

“Come on!” cried Ned; “what do we care for that 
old tub of a boat! We’re treasure hunting now!” 

Kecalled by these words to the business in hand, 
we put off again and soon forgot our loss—at least 
I did, though Hal, I fancy, was still thinking on the 
trot-line he couldn’t run. 

“I guess we’d better cross right over the top and 
explore the other side,” suggested Ned, who was 
toiling up the hill in front of us. “Bottom and 
Webb’ll probably take this side first. We’ve got 
to go easy, though. We’ll separate when we get 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


223 


there. I ’ll take the top; Bert, you take the middle, 
and HalTl take the bottom.” He halted and turned 
around. “We’ll work up to the other end, and if 
any of us catches sight of the enemy he’ll have to 
warn the other two.” 

“But how’ll he warn ’em?” I asked. 

“That’s right. Let’s see now.” Ned looked about 
him as though he half expected to see the necessary 
warning hanging in the trees. 

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “Whistle like a 
quail! B-bob -white —like that. It’s dead easy. We 
can all do it; and they’ll never suspect it in the 
world. ’ ’ 

We practised for a while, whistling very low, and 
then pushed on up the hill. 

At the summit, which we reached after a long 
and wonderful steep climb, we came on a plateau, even 
broader than Paul Plover’s, that sloped up gently 
towards the middle of the hill. It was less densely 
wooded than the acclivity we had just ascended, 
but the trees were much larger, being mostly oak 
and hickory and walnut, with pleasant, sun-checkered 
vistas of waving grass lying between them. Just to 
our right and a little way down from the terrace-like 
hilltop, bulked out the immense mass of rock whose 
sheer front formed the cliff beneath which we had 
spent the night. It was covered with fresh and abund¬ 
ant verdure—long grass, thick clusters of bushes, 


224 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


and several smaller trees. Though it tilted up some¬ 
what briskly to the plateau,, its outer extremity, 
the last few yards, was practically level. 

1 ‘Let’s go down and have a look,” said I. 

“Yes,” said Hal, “and have Jerry Bottom take a 
pop at you. I thought we were treasure hunting, 
not sight seeing.” 

“Oh, we’ll be back in a jiffy/’ said Ned, and the 
two of us scrambled down the pitch, leaving Hal, 
who was a trifle huffed, seated at the foot of a tree. 

It was a very beautiful view we had from the cliff. 
The entire bottom-land lay at our feet like a garden; 
and the river, bordering its westward side, gleamed 
like a narrow girdle of silver. We could see even 
beyond the range of hills on the north to where old 
Quarry lifted its wooded crest at the side of Fox 
Creek. 

Wishing to take a look directly beneath, we got 
down on our hands and knees and crept to the brink. 
It was a tremendous height. I had thought the bluff 
high from which Ned had jumped to Nettie’s rescue, 
but it dwarfed considerably in comparison with this 
one; at least that was my impression as I lay there 
looking fearfully below. The ledge on which we had 
slept was now shrunk to the width of a table, and 
Mrs. Plover’s hamper looked like a doll’s basket. 

“Gee, Ned,” said I, “let’s move back, or I’ll be 
getting dizzy and fall over.” And without waiting 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


225 


for him I edged away from the precipice and went 
up the hill to join Hal. 

He was still beneath the tree under which we had 
left him, but he was standing now, with his hands 
in his pockets, looking up along the trunk. 

“What’s the matter?” said I. “Have you found 
her already?” 

He raised his hand and pointed. 

“No. I was just looking at that funny bump 
there. See; it looks like a big wart, doesn’t it?” 

A wart indeed was exactly what it resembled. A 
knotty excrescence, somewhat longer than your hand 
and a shade lighter than the surrounding bark, 
though smoother—I had seen such growths before in 
Forest Park. 

“Some trees grow that way,” I explained. “I’ve 
seen ’em in town.” 

Just then Ned came up, and we showed him the 
odd bump on the trunk. His face lighted up at 
once, and he got very much excited. 

* 1 Is there another one ? ” he cried. * ‘ Look around! 
Look around!” 

“This is an oak all right,” I began, “but shucks—” 

1 ‘ Sure enough! ” he exclaimed from the other side 
of the tree. “Look over here! Here’s another 
blaze—and another! Three of them! Hurrah, fel¬ 
lows, we’ve found the triple-blazed oak!” 

Around on the opposite side of the tree were two 


226 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


more protuberant growths, matching precisely the 
first we had discovered. One was a foot or so above 
our heads, and the other down close to the ground. 

“Shucks,” said I, “you don’t call those blazes, 
do you? When you blaze a tree you cut the bark 
off so you can see the white wood underneath.” 

Ned looked at me scornfully. 

“When do you think this blazin’ was done—yes¬ 
terday? Fifteen years ago this tree was blazed, 
and these are just the kind of marks that would be 
left. Gee, fellows, we’re lucky!” And he turned a 
handspring on the grass. 

Well, you could have knocked me down with a 
feather! That wasn’t the sort of blaze I expected at 
all; nor Hal either, to judge by his astonished face. 
It didn’t take us long, however, to see that Ned was 
right; and the next instant we were locked in each 
other’s arms and rolling around on the grass out of 
sheer joy at our discovery. 

Suddenly Hal sat bolt upright. 

“Jerry Bottom!” he warned. “We’ve forgotten 
Ihim and Webb!” 

These words quickly fetched us down to earth 
again. 

“Gee, that’s right!” said I. “Let’s measure off 
the distance. Got the letter, Hal?” 

Hal was already on his feet, with one eye puckered 
at the sun. 


THE TRIPLE-BLAZED OAK 


227 


“Don’t need the letter/’ he answered; “got it by 
heart.” And indeed by the way he rattled it off 
there was no doubting he had got it by heart. 
“Hunter’s Hill triple-blazed oak fifteen north ten 
west down! There’s the west,” he added, pointing 
across the river; “so that ought to make the north 
straight up along the top of the hill.” 

“Fifteen north,” said I: “fifteen what?” 

“First, let’s try 'feet,” Ned suggested, suiting the 
action to the word and measuring off the distance. 
He came to a halt upon a grassy bit of ground, still 
beneath the oak, that looked as though it had not 
been touched for a century. 

“Here she is, fellows, right here!” he cried, drop¬ 
ping to his knees and stabbing a stick into the turf 
to mark the spot. 

“But how’re we goin’ to dig?” asked Hal. 

Quite taken aback, Ned could only stare up blankly 
in answer. 

“Gee!” said I, “we’re great treasure hunters, we 
are. We might ’a’ known we’d need spades. Here, 
I’ve got my knife. Let’s see what’s under the grass 
anyway. ’ ’ 

Cutting a circle around the stick, I gouged out the 
sod with my fingers and then began to scrape into 
the sandy soil. But I had not scraped an inch ere 
I felt something hard. 

“The treasure!” I cried, and wildly plucked at 


228 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


the yellow earth. Ned and Hal sprang to my side 
and plunged their hands into the hole. Then look¬ 
ing closely, 

“Shucks,’’ said Hal, in disgust, “that’s a rock, 
Bert—nothing hut a darned old rock!” 


CHAPTER XXVI 

DEAD MAN'S CAVE 

^TI TELL,” said I, “the treasure might be under 
V V the rock. Let’s dig her up.” 

“We’ll need a stick o’ dynamite for that,” 
answered Hal. “I’ll bet that rock’s the size of a 
house.” 

“Let’s try yards,” said Ned, “and see where that 
lands us. Maybe we’ll hit the treasure right away.” 

So saying, he went back to the tree, stepped off 
fifteen paces to the north and then faced towards 
the river. At the seventh step he reached the mar¬ 
gin of the plateau, just where the ground began to 
dip. 

“That’s no better than before,” said I, disap¬ 
pointed. “That’ll land you right on that rock down 
there.” 

Sure enough, the tenth yard placed him square 
atop a considerable boulder that lay buried in the 
hillside. It was covered with moss and lichen, and 
was apparently immovable, for there was no telling 
how far it extended back into the hill. This site 
indeed looked even less promising than the former, 
and our hearts sank. 


229 


230 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Can we budge her, do you think?” asked Ned, 
stepping to the ground. 

Before I could make answer, Hal, who was on his 
knees and nosing like a terrier around the base of 
the boulder, uttered a sudden cry. 

“Here’s a hole, fellows, here along the side! 
Isn’t any rabbit-hole either.” 

There was, as he said, a hole in the ground about 
the size of my cap. It shelved in under the rock and 
looked as black as night. 

Ned jumped to his feet. 

“0 boy! This is the spot all right, sure as youv’re 
born! Now if we can only move this rock!” 

To our surprised delight, after we had torn away 
some of the earth at the back of it, we found that the 
boulder sheered off abruptly so as to allow of a suf¬ 
ficient purchase for prizing. Then, all in a fever of 
excitement, we scurried about for a strong piece of 
fallen timber (which was quickly found, as the hill 
was littered with such debris), and, using the edge 
of our excavation as a fulcrum, we swung on our 
lever and sent the boulder crashing down the hill¬ 
side. 

The sight that met our eyes quite astonished us. 
The hole Hal discovered had suddenly yawned 
larger—a funnel-like depression that ended at the 
bottom in a gaping black mouth through which a 
man might drop, it seemed, into the very bowels of 
the earth. 


DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


231 


“Gee!” cried Ned in awe-struck tones, “a cave!” 

“Do you think the treasure’s down there?” said I 
doubtfully. 

“Of course it is,” he answered. “What else is 
a cave for ’cept to hide treasure in? Specially when 
there’s treasure to hide. You and Hal run down to 
camp and fetch up the lantern and the rest of the 
trot-line. And I’ll keep guard.” 

Well, Hal and I had not been gone very long upon 
our errand (though the hill, as I have said, was 
wonderful steep climbing), and yet, as we neared the 
cave again, I saw no sign of Ned. It was strange, 
I thought, but I said nothing to Hal who was a little 
distance behind me. The closer I approached the 
stronger my misgivings became, until, running up 
over the embankment, I beheld Ned’s head just 
emerging from the throat of the dark pit. 

“What the deuce you doing!” I gasped, all out 
of breath but infinitely relieved. 

“Explorin’,” he answered, as calm as you please. 
* ‘ I tried her out for about six feet; you can go down 
as slick as a whistle. Fine footholds in the sides. 
Here, we’ll let the lantern down first, and see where 
the bottom is. Gimme.” 

He took the lantern, lighted it, and, as the three 
of us leaned over the opening, let it down slowly 
into the black depth. 

For the first few feet it burned brightly, and we 
could see the dusky gray walls of rock, with sharp 


232 


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protrusions here and there against which the lantern 
clinked and rattled. But suddenly the flame seemed 
to weaken, the light flickered and waned, and we 
could scarcely discern anything but a dull glow in 
a well of inky darkness. Just then the line went 
slack in Ned’s fingers, and simultaneously the light 
below was extinguished. 

“What’s that?” I cried. 

“Bad air,” said Ned promptly; “didn’t you 
notice how dim she was getting? It smelled kinda 
funny when I went down, and my head was only a 
few feet under.” 

Drawing the lantern out then and measuring the 
line, we found that our first landing-place was 
exactly fifteen feet below the surface of the hill. 

“But shucks,” said Ned, striking a match, “that 
doesn’t make any difference. We can stand a little 
bad air, I hope. There’s treasure hid down there, 
fellows! ’ ’ 

But Hal shook his head. 

“We better wait a while, Ned,” said he. “Better 
make sure. That treasure isn’t going to run away. 
We better wait two hours at least. 

I was of the same opinion as Hal; so Ned finally 
yielded, as he usually did when he saw that we were 
both against him. But it was the longest two hours 
I ever spent, notwithstanding that we went down 
to the river and took a swim, then made a vigorous 
assault on Mrs. Plover’s basket, and afterwards fell 


DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


233 


to building air castles till our faculty of invention 
was quite exhausted. And when at last we did climb 
up the hill again to the cave I very much doubt if 
we had tarried our allotted time, though Hal had said 
4 ‘two hours at least.” 

"Well, the first thing we did was to let the lantern 
d,own again, and on this second trial it burned 
steadily and clearly clean to the bottom. 

“Now leave her there,” said Ned. “I’ll go first, 
and you fellows follow when I give the signal.” 

Taking the rifle in his hand, he carefully felt his 
way through the opening and slowly descended. It 
gave me the creeps to see him gradually disappear 
into that black mouth; it was so like being swallowed 
alive. 

“How is it?” I called, bending over. His head 
was several feet below the surface now, but I could 
still see one of his hands which was grasping the 
highest jut of rock. 

“Easy as pie,” he answered, and his voice sounded 
strange and muffled. “Footholds on this side are 
best; and you can lean back against the other. Dead 
easy!” 

Just then my foot slipped, loosening almost a peck 
of gravelly detritus which fell rattling down on top 
of him. 

“Hey,” he yelled, “cut that out, will you! Be 
careful or you’ll break this lantern—and my head 
too. . . . All right, come on; I’m on the bottom.” 


234 


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I went next. Taking my courage in my two hands, 
I slid my legs into the entrance and felt about for a 
footing. But I found nothing; and for a moment or 
so, while my legs dangled in empty space and my 
hold above relaxed more and more, I came near giv¬ 
ing up the ghost. But just as I thought I must 
plunge to the bottom I felt a hand grasp my right 
foot and place it on something solid. 

“You’re all right now,” said Ned’s voice. “Look 
down and see where you’re going.” 

I did so, and sure enough made out plainly the 
clean-cut projections of rock. The next moment I 
was at his side, and we called up to Hal. He had 
better luck than I, and descended without mishap. 

The air was very chilly down here, a marked con¬ 
trast to the heat of the day above; and I was sorry 
I had left my coat at camp. 

“Now,” said Ned, “let’s see where we are. Looks 
rather tame, I should say.” 

But to my eyes, I must confess, it didn’t look tame 
at all; I think Ned spoke in this way just to fortify 
his nerve. Directly overhead we could see a patch 
of blue sky with a puff of cottony cloud at its edge: 
our last glimpse of the daylight. All about us was 
dark as the tomb, save where the yellow-burning wick 
shed its circle of feeble rays. 

Ned raised the lantern, and as he did so I started 
with horror. On a ledge of the wall, not five inches 
from his face, the head of a large snake was lifted, 


DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


235 


with its jaws open and its forked tongue a-quiver. 
At the same instant a low rattling sound began to fill 
the air which grew momentarily louder. 

“Look out, Ned!’" I cried. .. 

“What’s the matter?” He still held the light 
aloft. 

* 4 A snake! Eight by your head! Duck! ’ ’ 

Instead of ducking he looked around square into 
the reptile’s beady eyes. But he did not turn a hair. 

4 4 Give me your knife, Bert, ’ ’ he said in a low even 
voice, moving the lantern a little nearer to the snake’s 
head. 44 He can’t see; the light blinds him.” 

Beaching back his free hand, he took my knife 
and, while I gazed on in a sort of fearful fascination, 
slowly and carefully placed the blade just over the 
glistening scaly neck; then suddenly bore down on 
it with all his might. 

What followed sent me reeling back in terror, so 
that I almost knocked Hal down. With a whirring 
rattle the long writhing body shot in a coil around 
Ned’s arm, tightening and relaxing and tightening 
again; but the gaping red mouth with its trembling 
tongue lay beneath the blade. 

4 4 There,” said Ned, 4 4 that’ll settle Mr. Rattle¬ 
snake, I guess;” and he coolly unwound from his 
arm the yet moving body. 

It was the first time I had ever seen a rattlesnake, 
though, of course, I had often heard of them and 
their venomous bite that produced certain and pain- 


236 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


ful death. It was with a kind of dread interest, 
then, that I watched Ned cut off the peculiar organ 
at the extremity of the tail, which he said were the 
rattles. There were eleven of such, and at the end 
of them a little horny nib, like a button. That 
meant that the snake was eleven and a half years 
old, Ned explained. 

“Gee, I guess this isn’t a souvenir!” said he 
proudly, putting the rattles into his pocket. “Got 
turkey feathers beat a mile!” 

Hal returned nothing to this sally, but, for my 
own part, I thought his feathers made a much more 
pleasant souvenir than Ned’s grim relic. 

After we had recovered somewhat from the shock 
of this encounter (cold shivers were still running 
up and down my spine), we began to move forward 
along a low corridor that dipped slightly and widened 
perceptibly at every step. 

Ned took the lead, holding the lantern aloft and 
peering ahead into the thick gloom; I followed next, 
carrying my knife, and Hal with the rifle brought 
up the rear. 

We had not proceeded ten yards along this first 
passage, which led straight into the hillside, when 
Ned halted abruptly. 

“She ends here, fellows,” he said. “There’s a 
solid wall in front of us.” 

But he was mistaken. As we reached the wall we 
saw on our left a high fissure in the rocky side, suf- 


DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


237 


ficiently wide to allow of our going through. Once 
beyond this opening we found ourselves in a broad 
passage still gently sloping downward and running, 
apparently, parallel with the length of the hill. Its 
height we could not determine, as our yellow lan¬ 
tern-light lost itself in the dark vault above. The 
walls on either hand were sweating water now, which 
trickled down and formed a little stream that flowed 
in a groove along the middle of the tunnel. The 
rock all about us was coated with a soft clay that 
shone a dusky red; it adhiered to our clothes when 
we brushed against the sides, being as sticky as glue. 

It was strange how little we spoke, though we felt 
that we were nearing the treasure at every stride. 
Somehow the intense darkness which engulfed us, 
and the deep silence, and the high glimmering corri¬ 
dor, and the unseen things that lay ahead, and the 
sense of being so completely cut off from the bright 
world above—all this weighed heavily upon our hearts 
and somehow made us rather loath to talk. Even 
when we came on a heap of bones—the remains of 
some wild animal—Ned only pointed at it; and we 
pursued our way without a word. 

Presently the passage turned sharply to our right, 
still at a slight incline, and after ten or twelve yards 
brought us to a steep bank of brash or loose rock. 
This bank was only some four feet high, but in 
attempting its descent Ned lost his footing and went 
sliddering to the bottom. The sudden jar extin- 


238 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


guished the lantern and left us in the pitchiest dark¬ 
ness I have ever experienced. It was only with dif¬ 
ficulty that we could strike a match, as the moisture 
all about us had so penetrated our clothes that there 
was scarcely a dry spot left on them. 

At length, with lantern relighted, we proceeded 
on our way. Each step took us deeper into the heart 
of the hill, and I wondered if we should ever get out 
of this inferno of Stygian shade and abysmal solitude 
and behold again the smiling blue sky. But then 
came the thought of the treasure; we were approach¬ 
ing closer to it every moment; and my anxiety gave 
place to a great expectation. 

We had advanced along this third passage for 
about fifty or sixty yards when Ned, who was in 
front, suddenly halted and raised the lantern over 
his head. 

“This looks like the end for sure, ,, he said in a 
subdued tone. “Let me see.” He stepped forward 
a pace or two. “No, gee no! There’s a big opening 
in the left wall! ’ ’ 

Then, just as he came abreast of this new turn, the 
lantern in his hand struck against a jut of rock and 
flickered out. With a rush the overhanging gloom 
enveloped us. 

Before I could gather my wits Ned uttered a low 
cry and stumbled back against me. I felt his hand 
grip my arm convulsively. 

“Look!” he gasped, in a choking terrified voice. 


DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


239 


I took one step forward and peered down the pas¬ 
sage to my left. And as I looked my hair stood on 
end and my heart stopped beating. Before me in 
mid air,—how near or far, I could not tell—all in a 
lurid greenish blue, glowed the grinning figure of a 
human skeleton! 


CHAPTER XXVII 

WHAT HAPPENED IN DEAD MAN’S CAVE 


< 71 T^lAT ’S wrong with you guys ?’’ asked Hal 

V V 0ll t °f the darkness behind. His sturdy, 
matter-of-fact tone was a reassuring sound in my 
ears. It seemed to render the ghastly spectacle less 
forbidding. 

“Come here and look,” said Ned with a little quake 
in his voice. 

“Gee!” said Hal, “a real skeleton! Well, let’s 
light the lantern. I guess we’re near the treasure 
all right.” 

Hal’s calmness and self-possession made me rather 
ashamed of myself, and Ned too, I fancy, felt some¬ 
what abashed. Besides, Hal had recalled the object 
of our quest, which I, at least, had momentarily for¬ 
gotten; and this helped to banish our fright. 

“I know what that light is,” said Ned, fumbling 
with the lantern and talking out boldly (which was 
good to hear). “That’s foxfire. Funny I didn’t 
think of it before. You see it at night on rotten logs 
and such. Looks kinda ghosty, doesn’t it? There, 
she’s lit. Now let’s have a peep at old man skeleton.” 

Though he spoke with so much assurance, it was 
with considerable trepidation (my heart at least was 
240 


WHAT HAPPENED 


241 


going pitapat) that we walked down a short passage¬ 
way to the threshold of a large chamber. 

In the opposite wall, some four or five feet from 
the ground, stood the skeleton, still glimmering with 
phosphorescence even in the lantern’s shine. It was 
a weird unearthly sight, and for a moment we could 
not help pausing in a certain awe. 

Approaching closer, then, we saw how the thing 
was fixed in its position. Half sitting, it lay back 
in a shallow niche as snugly as if it had been fitted 
there. About its feet was strewn some molded stuff 
that must have been clothing once upon a time, though 
the decayed matter that now fell apart under our 
touch certainly bore no resemblance to cloth. 

“He was hung,” said Ned in a voice that had sud¬ 
denly lost its bravado. “See how they strung him 
up there to that rock.” 

Sure epough, from a jutting crag overhead de¬ 
pended a length of rope, frayed and rotten. Mur¬ 
der had been done down here in this black hole; but 
when and by whom, there was no telling. The mere 
thought that where we stood a man had struggled 
for his life—pleaded perhaps piteously while the 
vault of gloom above echoed his agonizing cries, and 
his captors but mocked and jibed and laughed—the 
mere thought of all this made my blood run cold. 

“Gee,” grumbled Hal, “I don’t see any treasure.” 

This sudden remark plucked me out of the past. 

“You don’t?” said I and began making a survey 


242 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


of the chamber. It was a large apartment, some¬ 
what square in shape, with a high, narrow cleft in 
one corner, too narrow to admit the passage of a man, 
through which flowed the little stream that we had 
followed. I put my ear close to this aperture and 
hearkened. From far below came the sound of 
splashing water; possibly an underground river, I 
thought. 

‘ ‘Look here,” cried Ned from the opposite corner, 
1 ‘here’s another passageway. I wonder if there’s 
any more to this cave.” Without more bones he 
plunged down this new tunnel, leaving Hal and me 
in total darkness, save for the glimmering skeleton 
above us. 

‘ 4 Hey,” I began, but next moment saw the light 
reappear up the passage we had already traversed. 

“That leads right back to where we first saw the 
skeleton,” said Ned, returning to the chamber. 

So indeed it did, and on closer inspection we found 
that it was an enormous wedge of rock that separated 
the two passages. The one Ned had just explored 
was fairly wide at the mouth but tapered off into a 
very narrow crevice just at the right-angle turn of 
the main passage. 

“Well,” said Ned, “here we are at the end of the 
cave and nothing but an old skeleton for our pains. 
I wonder,” he added despondently, “if that cipher 
didn’t mean just a skeleton.” 

“There’s nothing else down here that I can see,” 


WHAT HAPPENED 


243 


said I. “This floor is solid rock and as smooth as 
pavement, and the walls the same, mostly." 

A sudden cry from Hal whisked us about. 

“Here, let's have the light!" said he excitedly. 
“There’s some writing here!" 

He stood looking at the wall to the left of the 
skeleton. As we crossed to his side he snatched the 
lantern from Ned and held it up close to the gleam¬ 
ing red clay. Sure enough, to our astonishment, we 
beheld a number of lines of roughly drawn letters, 
and below them a large skull and cross-bones. The 
characters seemed to have been scrawled with a nail 
or other pointed object—a dagger, perhaps—and 
looked as fresh as if they had been graven that very 
day. 

“What is it?" cried Ned. “What’s it say?" 

Hal followed the writing with the lantern, line 
after line, reading slowly; and this is what he read: 

We do all swear with our right hands up that we will 
not touch the swag here buried until two years are up and 
that then on Sept. 30, *80 we will meet in Gus’s place at 
Kimley if not nabbed. The swag will be divided share and 
share alike among them that are there. 

P. Roach Kid Kattles 

D. Johnson H. Harvey Hackett 

And at the bottom, beneath the skull and cross- 
bones, was appended this terrible pleasantry, which 
partially revealed the identity of the skeleton: 


244 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


P.S. Bill, you wanted it. You can have it all to your¬ 
self for two years. We hope you enjoy it. 

The effect of this information was electrical. Since 
we had entered the chamber our spirits had been a 
trifle dashed. We had no clue to the exact location 
of the treasure. The place had looked utterly bare. 
There had been absolutely nothing to suggest a cache 
on those sheer clay-coated walls or upon the smooth 
sloping floor. Now, however, though all things out¬ 
wardly remained the same, we knew for certain that 
somewhere in this dim, rock-walled dungeon our 
treasure lay hidden; and we could scarcely contain 
ourselves for joy. 

“Gee!” exclaimed Ned, “she’s here, fellows, she’s 
here! All we got to do is to find her! ’ ’ 

Our first thought, of course, was of the niche. 
Although we had examined this pretty thoroughly 
before, nevertheless we again investigated the space 
behind the skeleton’s leg; but to no avail. The whole 
recess was, as I have said, very shallow, allowing 
room for little else than its grim occupant. Certainly 
now our lantern-light fell on nothing but the naked 
rock. 

“Well,” said Ned, “there’s treasure in here some¬ 
where, that’s sure.” And he began once more to 
search the empty chamber, holding the lantern close 
to the ground; while Hal and I followed, peering 
eagerly over his shoulder. We scanned every foot 
of the floor, especially where it met the walls, and 


WHAT HAPPENED 


245 


had got around nearly to the skeleton again when, on 
my suddenly straightening up, the knife in my pocket 
fell clattering to the ground. Ned, still stooping, 
cocked his head towards me. 

“Do that again, Bert/’ said he, giving me an up¬ 
ward sidelong glance. There was an odd expression 
in his eyes, I thought. 

“Do what?” I asked, picking up my knife. 

“Drop your knife again in the same place and 
listen.’’ 

I did so, but was puzzled to guess what he was 
driving at. The knife struck end on; the^e was 
nothing peculiar in the sound that I could detect, save 
its resonance; but down here in this underground 
canyon every noise we made was resonant. 

“Don’t you hear! Don’t you hear!” cried Ned, 
suddenly fired with new excitement. “Drop it out 
there now and notice the difference.” 

I understood then: he thought he had discovered 
a covered cavity in the rock floor. And indeed when 
I had let my knife fall again, once in the center of 
the chamber and once where Ned was standing, there 
was no longer any doubt of it. I, myself, easily dis¬ 
tinguished the flat crack of the one contact from the 
hollow clink of the other. 

Ned was on his knees in a trice. 

“Scrape the mud away over there, Hal!” he cried 
in a low thrilling voice. “Bert, on that side! We’ve 
found her, fellows, we’ve found her!” 


246 


DOUBLE-EAGLETS 


For several minutes we worked in silence, tearing 
madly at the thin coat of clay. Once I paused and 
looked up. We made an uncanny picture, surely. 
Kneeling there in the orange glow of the lantern, the 
grisly skeleton standing above us and glimmering 
with its ghostly light, we looked like three goblins 
in some witch-haunted den of elfland. 

Then, all as I bent forward to resume my scrap¬ 
ing, there fell on our ears a sound that plucked us 
terror-stricken to our feet. Some one had stumbled 
down the bank of loose rock in the third passage! 

Ned was the first to find speech. 

“Bottom!” he whispered, his face aghast. “We’re 
trapped!’ 7 

Frantic as I was with fear, I could only marvel in 
those first few seconds how completely and how fool¬ 
ishly we had forgotten our enemies. 

Then Hal, with rare presence of mind, extinguished 
the lantern. 

“What can we do?” he breathed. “They’ll kill 
us sure if they find us!” 

Ordinarily resourceful, my mind was now a hope¬ 
less blank. A great fear had seized upon all my 
faculties, and I just stood there quaking. Then, as 
in a sort of dream, I heard Ned’s voice at my ear. 

“Down low! We’re caught, but we can still make 
a stand. I’m going to shoot the first one that turns 
the corner!” 

I crouched on the floor. Ned knelt at my side and 


WHAT HAPPENED 


247 


trained the rifle up the short passageway in front of 
us. Already, at the other end, a dusky brightness had 
relieved the intense gloom. 

And then I heard Ned fumble in his pockets. En¬ 
sued a low whistling sound, like a swift intake of 
breath. 

‘‘ Good Lord! ’’ he gasped. 1 ‘ Did I ? ’’ 

11 Did you what ?’ ’ I demanded, my nerves on tenter¬ 
hooks. 

He made no answer, but very softly thrust back 
the breech-block of the rifle, closed it, and thrust it 
back again. Then he gave a kind of stifled groan. 

“What’s wrong?” I whispered. 

“The game’s up! I left the cartridges down on 
the ledge!” 

Hal sprang to his feet. 

“To the other opening then!” said he. “Quick! 
It’s our only chance! ’ ’ 

Indeed, there wasn’t a moment to lose. Even now, 
at the turn of the last wide passage, a yellow light 
gleamed along the wall; and I heard the sound of 
approaching feet. 

Groping our way across the darkness, we stole 
into the second exit, which Ned had discovered, and 
flattened ourselves against the rock as near to the 
upper end as possible. For it was our plan, under¬ 
stood by each of us without the uttering of a syllable, 
to beat our retreat so soon as the enemy s&ould enter 
the treasure chamber. But our danger of discovery 


248 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


was twofold: Either they might flash their lantern 
through this narrow gap where we stood (for they 
could not help but notice it), or, when we crossed 
the main passage, they might be looking back and 
so detect us. 

Hear, now, how this desperate business fell out. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

what happened in dead man ’s cave —Continued 

“■ ,1 ASY!” whispered a voice, sounding so close 
A that I started involuntarily. “Easy now, 
Buck, They heard me pitch down that thar’ bank, 
I reckon. They’re lay in’ low, but we got ’em this 
time.” 

Then, before the other could answer, Bottom ut¬ 
tered a great cry and recoiled up the passage. 

“Sperrits! We’re runnin’ foul o’ sperrits, Buck! 
The cave’s ha’nted!” 

“Stop that bellerin’, you elyphant!” rapped out 
Webb in a low voice. “What if it is a sperrit, bel¬ 
lerin’ hain’t a-goin’ to he’p us none. Besides, I ain’t 
see a sperrit yet what’s done me harm; an’ that thar’ 
one looks more like bones than the real genuwine 
article. Hit don’t move, neither.” 

“I tell you, Buck,” said Bottom, in tones still 
trembling with fear, “them talkin’ sounds what we 
heard wuz sperrits a-gibberin’.” 

“I guess a sperrit kills rattlers then and leaves 
footprints, don’t it?” returned the other in high 
scorn. “You have got a head atop o’ your shoulders, 
you have.” 


249 


250 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Wa-al then,” said Bottom, “them kids is done 
f’r, ’s all Ill say. Sperrits is got ’em, sure as you 
an* me’s standin’ here. An’ they 11 git us, too, if we 
fools around any longer.” 

At these words a great hope leaped up in my 
breast, and I could have hugged those glimmering 
bones out of thankfulness. But when Webb spoke 
again my heart sank. 

“Thar’s one thing about that thar’ sperrit now,” 
he said, as though arguing with himself, “hit don’t 
move. An’ I calls that blame’ funny, I does. It 
ain’t natchrul. Sperrits don’t set quiet while thar’s 
others diseussin’ ’em. They ain’t to be badgered, 
true sperrits ain’t. They hain’t built that way. An’ 
here you ’n’ me’s been a-talkin’ ’bout that thar’ 
sperrit right to its face. Dern my skin, I don’t be¬ 
lieve it is a sperrit,” he wound up; “leastways I’m 
a-goin’ to find out.” And he started down the pas¬ 
sage to the chamber. 

But at his first step Bottom sprang to his side. 

“Don’t! Don’t, Buck lad!” he pleaded. “Don’t 
cross it! I ain’t see a man yet what crossed a sperrit 
an’ lived to tell of it. Hit’ll blast you, Buck, worse’n 
lightnin’, an’ me too. Let it be, lad. For Gawd’s 
sake, don’t cross it!” 

The abject terror of these words was pitiful, and 
for a space Webb hesitated. At length, whipping 
out an oath, 

“Sperrits er no sperrits,” he cried, “thar’s gold 


WHAT HAPPENED 


251 


down here—leastways yon wuz mighty keen on sayin’ 
so. An’ now we’re right atop of it like, I’m not 
a-goin’ to turn tail an’ leave it. All the sperrits 
hoppin’ out o’ hell hain’t a-goin’ to bluff me!” On 
that he ran down the passage, and the next moment 
the light from his lantern was shining on the wall at 
the lower end of our hiding-place. He was in the 
treasure chamber. 

But we dared not stir. Bottom still stood in the 
passage, blocking our escape. We could hear him 
groaning and mumbling to himself. 

Suddenly Webb laughed aloud. 

“A skelyt’n!” he sang out. “Nothin’ but a 
stinkin’ old skleyt’n what’s all plastered up with 
foxfire!” He laughed again. “I reckon that’s one 
on you, Jerry, fer sure!” 

“Wa-al, skelyt’ns ain’t to be sneezed at neither,” 
cautioned Bottom. “I shouldn’t wonder now but 
what hits sperrit’s a-standin’ somewheres close 
about.” Nevertheless he advanced slowly towards 
the chamber. 

I nudged Ned carefully. I thought our opportu¬ 
nity was at hand. But at this point Webb must have 
given the skeleton a jerk, probably to show his con¬ 
tempt. There was a great clattering of bones upon 
the rock floor, and Bottom, with a hoarse shriek of 
despair, fled back up the passage. I cast a swift 
fearful glance at the mouth of our retreat, and, as 
I did so, a round skull rolled into view and lay grin- 


252 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


ning up at us. My heart jumped to my throat; the 
ghastly thing looked as if it were trying to play the 
tell-tale. 

“Whar’ you runnin’ to, you big galoot ?” Webb 
called out. “D’you think a sperrit ’ud fall to pieces 
like that? Leastways, I knows when I’m hit on the 
head by a chunk o’ bone.” 

Bottom was half way up the third corridor by this 
time. But on hearing these words he halted and 
timidly retraced his steps. Meantime we could see 
the light shifting about in the chamber, and pres¬ 
ently Webb spoke again. 

“No sight o’ them kids ner the gold neither, what 
I k’n see. This hole’s as bare as a box-car. Hey, 
by thunder!” he broke off, “here’s some writin’ 
scrabbled on this wall.” 

“Writin’?” queried Bottom, who had plucked up 
enough courage to come as far as to the turn again. 

“Yes, writin’!” cried the other. “An’ if you wuz 
half the man you set up fer bein’, Jerry Bottom, you 
could read it right off. I can’t, but I never had yer 
chances in life, I never. This here writin’ likely tells 
us whar’ the gold’s hid too.” 

Bottom had now ventured once more down into the 
chamber. We heard his step sound through the 
lower end of our passage. Noiselessly, then, Ned 
slipped out through the narrow crevice and tiptoed 
across the dim-lighted but dangerous space beyond. 
I followed and, as I passed over to the protecting 


WHAT HAPPENED 


253 


darkness, I dared to steal a glance down towards our 
enemies. Amidst a number of scattered bones they 
were standing before the back wall, the lantern held 
between them, examining the writing. 

Hal came next, and the three of us paused a mo¬ 
ment to make sure we had not been observed. But 
all we heard was a muttered curse from Bottom and 
the words: “I ? d give my right arm now fer a scrap 
of eddication.” Then, our hearts beating high with 
hope, we began our wary flight up the corridor. We 
had escaped the death trap! 

At first we proceeded very slowly, fearing to make 
the slightest sound. But, as we left our enemies 
farther behind, we quickened our pace until, break¬ 
ing into a run we fairly sped along. Once I glanced 
back over my shoulder; far down at the turn of the 
passage glimmered a faint light—the reflection from 
their lantern. But in front of us was naught but 
darkness, black and thick like a solid. 

My heart was singing now. We had escaped! We 
were free! Soon we should be standing again in 
the glad light of day and breathing the pure air. 
Once more we should see the bright river and the 
green hills and feel the warm kiss of the sunshine. 
These gloomy corridors, and the ghostly skeleton, and 
the cruel murderers behind there, would no longer be 
realities, but only the flitting shadows of some evil 
dream. 

Drawn on by these thoughts, I mended my pace 


254 


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and spurted suddenly ahead. The next moment I 
had struck Ned’s foot, sending him sprawling to the 
ground. The rifle in his hand rang loudly on the 
stone passage, the sound of it echoing along between 
the high walls. 

“Go on!” whispered Hal. “I’ve got the gun.” 

Ned was on his feet in a trice and sprinting again 
through the darkness. But he had not taken a dozen 
steps, I at his heels, when he stumbled against the 
bank of rubble; and amid a crash of sliding stones 
we both rolled to the floor. Upon the instant a light 
flashed down at the end of the corridor, and with a 
roar of fury Bottom came leaping in pursuit. 

Throwing caution to the winds, we scrambled noisily 
up the brashy incline and fled along the passage. 

“Look out for the turn!” Hal called from behind, 
and just in the nick too, for as Ned halted and put 
out his hand he touched the wall of the second corri¬ 
dor. The delay cost us several seconds, and this, 
added to the time lost in mounting the loose rock, 
allowed our pursuers to lessen their handicap by half. 
As I turned the corner, with the tail of my eye I 
saw Bottom clear the rubble bank at a bound, his 
pistol in one hand and the lantern swinging in the 
other; and behind him gleamed the savage face of 
IWebb. 

In this second corridor they must have overtaken 
us surely, had not fortune (or better, Providence) 
interposed a favoring hand. Bottom, who was not 


!WHAT HAPPENED 


255 


fifteen yards behind us now, suddenly slipped on 
the smooth floor and with a roar of baffled rage fell 
heavily to the ground, his companion bowling over 
on top of him. They were up in an instant, and, 
although their lantern had been extinguished by the 
shock, they could hear our footsteps and were press¬ 
ing close behind us. For all that, we had gained a 
little by the lucky accident. 

Just as we reached the high cleft leading into the 
last short passage a detonation like dynamite split 
the air, and a bullet struck fire from the rock wall 
not six inches above our heads. 

4 ‘Quick!’’ I cried. “That’s their last cartridge!” 

But, even as I uttered the words, my heart sank 
within me. What though it were their last car¬ 
tridge, they must surely capture us at the mouth of 
the cave. We could never hope to scale that height 
in the few brief seconds that would be left us. 

And then, with these despairing thoughts at my 
heart, I caught my first glimpse of the longed-for 
day. Over Ned’s shoulder glimmered a shaft of 
gray uncertain light, and I knew that up beyond 
that narrow throat of rock bright sunshine and safety 
lay upon the hillside. 

Behind us Bottom was already struggling through 
the opening. 

“We got ’em, Buck!” he roared, and bursting into 
the passage, came bounding up after us like a wild 
beast. 


256 


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Ned leaped for the first ledge, lost his hold, and 
toppled back with a cry of dismay. In that same 
instant Hal’s voice rang out high and clear: 

“Stop where you are! Hands up!” 

I swung round, too astonished for words. Hal 
stood with his back to us, the rifle held at aim in 
front of him. Beyond, in the dusky light of the 
passage, I discerned our pursuers, their arms aloft, 
fury, astonishment, and fear stamped upon their 
faces. 

“Budge one inch, either of you,” cried Hal again, 
“and by the Lord Harry Ill put a bullet through 
your heart! Get out of this, you fellows,” he added 
in his ordinary tones. 

But neither Ned nor I stirred. We didn’t see how 
Hal was to make his escape, and by a common though 
unspoken determination we remained where we were. 

“But how are you going to get out, Hal?” asked 
Ned. 

“You leave that to me,” he returned, his eye still 
fixed along the rifle sights. “Ill get out. Hurry 
up now. Shin up that rock, or Ill pull this trigger 
before I know it; and I don’t want to do any un¬ 
necessary killing.” 

“Looky here, sonny,” began Bottom, oily and suave 
once more. (He was a coward at heart, I think.) 

“Shut your mouth,” snapped Hal, “or you’ll eat 
bullets, you will. Now then, clear out, you fellows.” 

Well, what else could we do? There was nothing 


WHAT HAPPENED 


257 


for it but to “clear out,” as be bad ordered. Ned 
clambered up first and I followed, though it went 
sore against my heart to leave the plucky lad alone 
with those two desperadoes. True, they could have 
no suspicion that the rifle was not loaded; yet I 
feared some trickery on their part, as the passage 
below was very dim (albeit our eyes had grown ac¬ 
customed to the darkness) and especially as we ob¬ 
structed the daylight in our ascent. 

I gained the top, however, without having caught 
the least untoward sound (and oh, how delicious was 
the free air and the sunlight and the green trees!), 
though for the life of me I couldn’t see how Hal was 
going to manage his own escape. 

All ears, Ned and I lay at the lip of the hole. And 
after a little we heard Hal’s voice; it sounded thin 
and piping but oh, so brave and unfaltering! 

“Now then, turn about and march to the end of 
the passage. . . . Good. Hands up there! I can see 
plain enough to shoot. Now go through that open¬ 
ing. Step lively!” 

There fell an interval of silence, and then, sud¬ 
denly, we heard a brushing and scraping in the cave 
below and knew that Hal was beginning his ascent. 
The next moment his head appeared, and my heart 
gave a great throb of joy. Another step brought 
him a foot higher, and he looked up at us, smiling. 

“Take the gun,” he whispered and held up the 
barrel. 


258 


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Then, as I reached down for it, I saw a sudden 
look of terror flash into his eyes, and a voice below 
roared out: 

“I’ll eat bullets, will I, you little devil! Yer own 
mother won’t know you when I stops workin’ on you5 
Come down here, you varmint!” 


CHAPTER XXIX 

ON THE BROW OF THE CUFF 

N ED and I looked at each other in despair. Hal 
had saved our lives at the risk of his own, and 
now he was to pay the forfeit of his heroic act. 

We listened intently then, expecting every moment 
to hear his agonizing cries as those two brutes mangled 
his poor little body. But we heard nothing. Not a 
sound issued from that black forbidding hole. 

“They’re taking him below to torment him, ,, said 
Ned, a great sob choking his voice. “What can we 
do?” 

Idle question! There was absolutely nothing we 
could do. We could not stir a finger to help him. 
Our rifle was gone, but under the circumstances it 
could have availed us little. 

“Ned, old man,” said I, “we can’t help it. Hal’s 
a goner, I guess.” 

At these words he sprang to his feet with flashing 
eyes. I have never seen him more angry in my life. 
In his fury he caught up a large rock as though it 
were a pebble. 

“If they touch a hair of his head,” he cried, 
250 


260 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“they’ll never get out of there alive! I’ll kill ’em 
like rats in a trap! ’ ’ 

But he had scarce done speaking when, without 
my saying a word, his mood changed entirely. He 
sank down on the hillside, buried his face in his arms, 
and sobbed like a child. It was distressing to see 
him. But there was nothing I could do, nothing I 
could say. I could only sit there, my own eyes swim¬ 
ming with tears and my own heart wrung with pain 
at the fate of my gallant little friend. 

How long we so remained I do not know, perhaps 
five minutes, perhaps ten; I only know that Ned 
quite suddenly sat up and almost shouted the two 
words: “Paul Plover!” 

On him the name acted like a charm: despair van¬ 
ished from his face, a bright hope sparkled in his 
eyes, and he leaped to his feet, brisk and ready, like 
one who has a welcome business to dispatch. But 
as for me, I thought it little indeed that Paul Plover 
could accomplish, and said so plainly. 

“Paul Plover can’t do anything,” said I. “I 
don’t know how he can help us.” 

“He’ll know, though!” cried Ned, and put off like 
a deer along the summit of the hill. 

Well, there was I, alone. I could not but deem 
Ned’s errand futile. I made sure he had nothing 
more definite in mind than to fetch Mr. Plover to 
the scene; and once Mr. Plover were come, I reflected 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 261 

bitterly, he could only sit here, like us, gnawing his 
knuckles while Hal was being done to death in the 
dark cave below. 

By degrees, however, my excitement and anguish 
subsided. It was well along in the afternoon now, 
and the air was warm and heavy and hushed. Not a 
leaf stirred. Not a bird note pricked the stillness. 
The sunshine slept on the grass about me, and below 
on the hillside long, golden prisms, in which insects 
swam like tiny jewels, slanted through the green 
foliage. A few paces down to my left a pair of 
canary-colored butterflies were fluttering over a spray 
of wild roses; they seemed as if in two minds whether 
to alight. At last, just as they had got settled and 
were slowly opening and closing their pretty wings, 
a big, black bumblebee, like a bullying intruder, came 
tumbling into the pink and yellow cluster and sent 
them off in panic flight. 

I started up. Was it possible that I had allowed 
myself to be lulled into the slightest forgetfulness 
of our situation! Beneath this sunny hillside, so 
peaceful and so fair, beneath the gay flowers and 
the restful trees and the green grass, a dark deed 
was in act; and the victim was my friend who had 
saved me! But while my heart bled at the thought 
my mind could scarce receive it; it was too incredible, 
too monstrous, too terribly incongruous with the 
smiling June day around me. 


262 


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But the next moment I became convinced of the 
grim reality. Out of the dark pit at my feet issued 
Bottom’s rolling tones: 

1 ‘Up you goes, Buck! An’ keep that lone lamp 
o’ yourn lookin’ sharp.” 

Quick as thought I darted down on the brow of 
the cliff where the bushes were thickest, dropped to 
the ground, and lay peering through the leaves at 
the mouth of the cave. 

Webb was the first to appear, or rather our rifle, 
whose shiny barrel stuck up over the circular em¬ 
bankment. A few seconds later it was followed by 
Webb’s ill-featured visage. He cast his one eye 
cautiously around; but seeing nothing, he drew him¬ 
self up, turned and said something to Bottom. His 
next act was rather odd, I thought: He reached 
down to grasp Bottom’s hand as though he would 
assist that burly ruffian to ascend. But when he 
straightened up again I could have shouted for joy. 
Hal was standing on the hillside! 

My first wild impulse was to run and greet him, 
for in those few moments of relief and intense glad¬ 
ness I could only suppose that our enemies had re¬ 
lented. But a narrower look at Hal convinced me 
of my folly. Webb had him gripped by the arm and, 
even as I looked, gave him a vicious wrench. Across 
the extreme paleness of his face lay two lines of 
clotted blood, like black threads. His cap was gone, 
and his clothes were torn and all smeared with 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 263 


bright yellowish clay. What dreadful pain they had 
inflicted on him down there I could not guess; nor 
why they had spared his life and brought him once 
more to the light of day. But I made sure they 
would show no mercy and that in the end, whatever 
their present purposes might be, they meant to kill 
him. 

On the other hand, Hal was still alive, and so long 
as he was alive there was a bare chance of his escap¬ 
ing out of their hands. At all events, he was not 
lying murdered far down in that dismal cave. He 
was only thirty yards away, standing in the bright 
sunshine. 

And then, suddenly, as I lay there, now hoping 
now despairing, I saw Bottom (who, by this time, 
had reached the surface and taken possession of Hal) 
point straight down to my hiding-place. My heart 
gave a great thump in my breast, but, ere I could slip 
away, they had started directly towards me. I 
thought at first that they had spied me, but as they 
approached I could tell by their manner that they 
were totally unaware of my presence. Yet I dared 
not stir an inch. Breathless in the dense covert, I 
heard them pass not five yards to my right and de¬ 
scend to the level space before the edge of the cliff. 

I had caught not a word thus far—scarce a word 
indeed had they spoken—and you may be sure I 
kept my ears pricked for any remarks that might 
betray their plans. Why had they brought Hal out 


264 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


of the cave? It was utterly impossible that they 
were going to spare his life. Had they discovered 
the treasure? It hardly looked that way. But if 
not, what were they doing up here, and with Hal? 
These and a dozen other questions flashed unanswered 
through my mind. Burning with curiosity, I risked 
a shift in my position so as to command a view 
of them and the better to hear their every word. 
Scarcely had I made the change when Bottom seated 
himself on the grass and drew Hal gently down to 
his side. Then he took out his pipe, slowly filled it, 
and, having struck a match, puffed quietly two or 
three times before he spoke. Turning at length to 
Webb, who stood by with a sneer of disapproval on 
his lip, 

“Buck,” said he easily, “I reckon you might set 
that popgun agin the tree yonder an’ come have a 
seat, friendly like.” 

Grumbling, Webb complied with the suggestion. 

Bottom smoked a little longer. Then, taking the 
pipe from his mouth, he addressed himself to Hal. 

“Looky here, sonny,” said he, “I reckon you and 
us don’t agree.” 

“We don’t,” snapped Hal between his teeth. The 
old villain went on, not a whit ruffled. 

“We don’t, says you. And I ain’t a-blamin’ of 
you neither, says I. But looky now, we’re a-goin’ to 
agree, I says; an’ be frien’s, what’s more. B’fore, 
you wuz pullin’ gee, an’ me ’n’ Buck here, we wuz 


ON THE BEOW OP THE CLIFF 265 


pullin’ haw; which wuz on’y nat’ral under circum¬ 
stances, says you. An’ as to that thar’ little roughin’ 
we gived you down yonder in the cave, you’ll bear 
in mind, I hope, that we wuz a bit het up like, an’ 
we begs yer pardon, Buck an’ me does, right humbly.” 

To this Hal answered nothing, but Webb jumped 
up and swore. 

‘‘Not on yer tintype, Jerry Bottom!” he cried. 44 1 
don’t beg no pardons, ner you neither. All I begs 
is the heart o’ that tadpole, an’ I means to have it 
too!” 

Bottom turned fiercely on his companion. 

“You keep a civil tongue in yer head, Buck Webb, 
er by thunder, I ’ll pitch you over that cliff! If you 
can’t behave like a gen’I’m’n should, you k’n least- 
ways shut up! ” 

At these words with very poor grace Webb knuckled 
under; it was plain to see which was the better man 
above ground. 

“Don’t you mind Buck, sonny,” Bottom contin¬ 
ued, assuming his conciliatory air. “He’s quick to 
fire up, is Buck, but hit don’t last. He’ll be as gentle 
as a dove er a Sunday-school miss b’fore long. Don’t 
mind him. You just cock yer ears to what I got to 
say to you.” 

He paused, then, and took a few pulls on his pipe, 
calmly. 

“Now then, sonny, bygones bein’ bygones, here’s 
the way we stand. You knows thar’s gold in that 


266 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


thar’ hole, an’ we knows it too. You beats us thar’ 
an’ sees directions writ on the wall, which same you, 
bein’ a bright penny, reads off like print. We alongs 
an’ breaks in on yer readin’, an’ you resigns. But 
we ain’t none the better; them d’rections stares us 
right in the face, but they may as well be writ in 
a Chinyman’s languidge—we can’t read. ‘Ign’rant 
clodhoppers,’ says you, an’ right you wuz. But 
looky, sonny, here’s my p’int: Let’s whack up this 
here gold. You read that writin’, an’ we divvys the 
treasure, you an’ me an’ Buck. This is what I wuz 
a-drivin’ at below, but you wuz so flustered up, like, 
an’ seairt—an’ no wonder, says you—that I thought 
we’d better come up here in the sunshine an’ talk 
things over like true pardners. Now what answer 
you goin’ to make frien’ Jerry?” And with that 
the lying blackguard laid his great, dirty hand in a 
comradely gesture on Hal’s shoulder; he meant to 
encourage him, I suppose. But Hal kept silent, his 
eyes fixed on the ground before him. 

‘‘Come, come, sonny I” cried Bottom in a fine show 
of friendliness. “We ain’t a-goin’ to hurt you none, 
we ain’t. Don’t you be afeared. Why, looky now, 
what good ’ud come of harmin’ a bright penny like 
you? Besides, lad, you didn’t think ole Jerry Bot¬ 
tom could find it in his heart to touch a hair of yer 
pretty head, did you now? Him what all the kid¬ 
dies back home calls ‘Daddy Jerry!’ ” He put his 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 267 

pipe back in his mouth and looked expectantly at 
Hal. 

Although I hoped with all my soul that Hal would 
reveal the whereabouts of the treasure and so save 
his life, yet I knew he was not taken in by the mon¬ 
ster ’s crude duplicity. A child could detect it. It 
was open, palpable. 

“1 suppose you want an answer,” said Hal at 
length, raising his head. His voice was firm and 
clear, and, though I was unable to see his face, I 
knew that his eyes were fearless. “Well then, I 
have only one word to say to you, Jerry Bottom. 
You may wag your lying tongue from now till the 
crack of doom, but you’ll never get me to read that 
writing. That’s my answer; make the most of it!” 

Bottom continued smoking for a while, motionless. 
Then, removing his pipe, he knocked the ashes out 
against the heel of his boot. 

“Buck,” said he in an ominously quiet tone, “I 
reckon you wuz right from the first. Kill the stub¬ 
born cub, says you; an’ right you wuz.” Thereupon 
he sprang to his feet and with one hand swept Hal 
from the ground. In three strides he was at the 
brink of the precipice and, holding the poor little 
fellow suspended over the abyss, 

“How do you like the looks o’ that?” he cried. 
“Do that change your mind any? Come, I’ll give 
you one more chance. If you speak up like a little 


268 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


man, well an’ good; gold an’ to burn fer the three 
of us. If you don't,”—here his voice rose to a per¬ 
fect fury—“then, by—, I’ll splatter you on them 
rocks below like a rotten apple!” 

“Oh, drop him an’ be done!” flung out Webb, 
with a curse. 

There followed then a moment of awful silence. 
Hal still hung over the cliff, clutched in Bottom’s 
hands. His eyes were closed, and there was a calm 
expression on his countenance. 

“Come,” urged Bottom, “what says you? I’ll 
give you three to speak up. . . . One—two—” 

“Wait!” cried Hal, opening his eyes; and at the 
word I think I almost fainted with relief. “I have 
got something to say. Put me down.” 

In an instant the old knave had changed front 
again. 

“Now you’re talkin’ like the sweet lad I knowed 
you wuz. I see all along you wuz on’y playin’ with 
us, like. I says to myself from the first, ‘ Jerry 
Bottom,’ says I, ‘this here lad is 0. K., he is. Just 
you treat him right, an’ he’ll be hand ’n’ glove with 
you in no time,’ says I. Now, sonny,” he added, 
placing his two big paws affectionately on Hal’s 
shoulders, “don’t I deserve to hear that thar’ writin’ 
read ? ’ ’ 

Hal looked up at him with unflinching eyes. 

“What you deserve, Jerry Bottom,” said he, “is 
a halter! And you’ll get it too, sooner than you 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 269 


think. Listen now; that writing in the cave doesn’t 
say one word as to where the treasure is. You two 
have been following a false scent, like a couple of 
curs!” 

Bottom fell back a pace in downright surprise. 

“But I know where the treasure is,” Hal went on, 
his voice ringing more defiantly at every word; “I 
know where it’s hidden, and you sha’n’t have a single 
shining dollar of it!” Bottom stood with mouth 
agape, too dumbfoundered to move. “What’s more,” 
cried Hal, “if you want to know who cut in on your 
plans, it was I! I found the cipher on the man you 
murdered, and made it out too! I held you at bay 
down in that cave with an empty rifle—an empty 
rifle, you cowardly bully! Now kill me if you want; 
I’m ready to die; but God have mercy on your soul 
when you’re swinging on the gallows!” 

With a roar of rage Bottom sprang upon him. 
Catching him up and shaking him as a mastiff would 
shake a flee, he advanced to the very brink of the 
cliff. 

“Look below, you devil’s imp,” he cried, “an’ 
pick out a soft place to hit! I deserves a halter, does 
I? Wa-al, I’d a sight ruther drop a rope’s length 
than a cliff’s length; an’ air is softer to land on than 
rock, I reckon! ’ ’ 

Then, stepping back, he swung Hal aloft to dash 
him to his death. 

I closed my eyes upon the sight; it was too terrible 


270 


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to witness. But as I buried my head in the grass 
there sounded quite close to me the swish of swiftly 
parted bushes; and when I looked up I saw Paul 
Plover snatch Hal from Bottom’s grasp and toss him 
back in safety upon the ground. Like a flash Bottom 
had turned, and the two giants were locked in each 
other’s arms. 

Almost at the same instant Webb sprang forward 
to aid his companion; but, as he did so, a voice on 
my right cried out: 

“Stop, Buck Webb, or I’ll shoot!” 

Both Webb and I, equally surprised, wheeled 
round; but he in dismay, I with a shout of joy. 
There was Ned standing behind a clump of poke- 
weed, not five yards off, with Paul Plover’s long pea^ 
rifle leveled at Webb’s heart. 

“Hands up!” Ned commanded. “Quick! Now 
back away. There, that will do.” 

I turned then and watched the struggle on the edge 
of the precipice. Neither Bottom nor our friend had 
moved an inch since they first came to grips. They 
were as motionless as the very ground on which they 
stood. Save for their labored breathing you might 
have thought they were two statues. Yet, under¬ 
neath this apparent repose, was the conflict of two 
mighty forces, each bent on the destruction of the 
other. 

How tremendous was the energy exerted I could 
only surmise from a few silent signs of the two com- 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 271 


batants. Bottom’s purple face, thrust forward over 
Mr. Plover’s arched back, stared at me with bursting 
eyeballs. The heels of both antagonists were ground 
into the turf; their arms grappled like steel about 
each other’s bodies, showed even through their shirt 
sleeves the swollen muscles. 

It might have been two minutes perhaps that they 
remained in this position. All at once Mr. Plover’s 
back arched more sharply, and putting forth a 
supreme effort, he took one step forward and forced 
Bottom to the utmost verge of the cliff. Then, 
in a twinkling, he let go his body-hold, plucked his 
adversary up by the feet and heaved him, somersault 
fashion, back over his head. The sudden violence of 
the motion broke Bottom’s grip, and he fell heavily 
to the ground. 

But almost immediately, before Mr. Plover could 
make use of this advantage, Bottom was on his feet 
again. Ensued, then, a series of feints and dodges, 
both men keenly watching for a favorable opening. 
But I noticed that Mr. Plover was kept with his back 
to the river, his opponent balking his every attempt 
to improve his position; and I began to fear that the 
fight would go against our champion. My heart was 
beating thickly now; I tried to lick my lips, but my 
tongue was as dry as cotton. And then, all at a 
crack, a thing happened that brought me up on my 
toes, with no breath in my body. 

Bottom was crouching low, his immense fists, like 


272 


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mallets, held up before him. Quite suddenly he 
lunged forward and swung savagely at the other’s 
head. Mr. Plover ducked, and, had he not countered, 
I verily believe the force of the drive would have 
carried Bottom over the cliff. As it happened, our 
friend delivered a blow in Bottom’s face that would 
have felled an ox. But that great hulk only blinked 
his eyes and recoiled a yard, the blood spurting from 
his ears. For a bare second he was dazed; but, brief 
as the interval was, it allowed Mr. Plover to spring 
back from the brink of the precipice and face his 
enemy on an equal footing. 

Bottom’s visage was now a very picture of passion. 
Hate, fury, and every feeling of deadly malice flamed 
forth from his countenance; the long scar across his 
cheek stood out like a welt against the dark, burning 
skin; and the fingers of his hands were twitching 
horribly in his mad desire to kill. But Mr. Plover 
was still cool; his eyes, narrowed to two glistening 
slits, were marking each slightest move of his antag¬ 
onist. 

In two twos then, as I was yet wondering how long 
the agony of it would last, the battle ended. With 
something like a muffled roar Bottom leaped wildly 
forward. Mr. Plover sprang aside and turned to 
face a“"second charge. But there was no second 
charge. Bottom had slipped and fallen, his shoulder 
glancing a bump on the grass-covered surface of the 
cliff. Before he could check himself he had rolled 


ON THE BROW OF THE CLIFF 273 


twice over straight towards the precipice. In a 
desperate effort to stay his slide he grasped the root 
of a scrub-cedar; the root held, but the momentum 
of the huge body was too great: the legs swung round 
and, kicking furiously for a purchase, skidded over 
the brink of the rock. 

The change that came over that evil face! It was 
only a moment that he hung there, for already the 
root was ripping out of the crumbly soil; but in that 
moment rage had given place to terror, wild terror 
that filled all his wicked soul and looked up at us out 
of despairing eyes. 

And then, suddenly, the root twisted and broke; 
and the black-hearted villain dropped to his doom. 


CHAPTER XXX 


TREASURE-TROVE 

F OR a space none of us spoke or stirred. Mr. 

Plover still stood in an attitude of defense; 
Ned still covered Webb with the rifle; Hal was kneel¬ 
ing motionless by the side of a hazel bush, his right 
hand clutching one of the stems; and I continued to 
gaze at the spot where Bottom’s face had so tragi¬ 
cally vanished. This was our attitude, just as if we 
were posing in a tableau. Then a crow cawed back 
on the hill, and the tension snapped. 

With one accord all of us, Ned and his prisoner 
excepting, rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked 
below. Save for a dark stain on the rim of the ledge 
and a fast widening ripple on the surface of the water 
we could see nothing of Bottom. The river had 
swallowed his great body, so full of iniquities, and we 
never laid eyes on it thereafter: a fitting end, I can¬ 
not help thinking, for a man who drowned his own 
companion. 

Mr. Plover turned, wiping his beaded forehead on 
his sleeve. 

“Boys,” said he very gravely, *‘I Tow Gawd 
274 


TREASURE-TROVE 


275 


’lmighty had somethin’ to do with that fight, I do.” 
Then, with a smile, “How you feeling Hallie boy?” 
he asked, taking Hal by the arm. “Did they hurt 
you much ? ” 

Whatever they had done to him, Hal looked pretty 
well now, and said so. 

“That pea-rifle o’ mine’s gettin’ kind o’ heavy, I 
reckon, ain’t she, Ned?” he went on, in high feather. 
“You jest hold her a little longer while I trusses up 
that ’ere genTm’n with this bit o’ fishin’ line. Hit 
don’t look stout, but when I finishes with him I 
guar’ntee he don’t break it.” 

Webb said nothing to this: only glowered at us 
savagely with his single eye. 

Thereupon, with marvelous dexterity, Mr. Plover 
bound him hand and foot. He offered some little 
resistance, but when Ned pressed the muzzle of the 
pea-rifle against his chest, he soon subsided and lay 
back as quiet as a lamb. 

“Now,” said Mr. Plover, standing up, “I reckon 
some o’ you boys’ll have to foot it to Fairdale to 
fetch the constable.” 

“No,” said Ned, “we want to get the treasure 
first.” 

* ‘ Treasure! ’ ’ cried Mr. Plover. * ‘ What treasure ? ’ ’ 

“Didn’t Ned tell you about that, Mr. Plover?” I 
asked, surprised. “The treasure’s the cause of it 
all!” 

And then, as we sat there on the brow of the cliff, 


276 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


with Webb lying at our feet—an unwilling auditor 
enough, I daresay—Ned related the story of our 
treasure hunt. 

At the end, Mr. Plover slapped his thigh and 
looked around on us in the greatest admiration. 

‘‘Well now, you boys is cute!” he exclaimed. 
“But you’re the cutest, Hal! Think o’ readin’ that 
secret writin’ now! Why, readin’ ordinary writin’ 
is hard enough without throwin’ in any extrys. An’ 
the cave! ” he added, jumping up excitedly, just like 
any boy. “You got to show me where she is, an’ 
we’ll all go down an’ fetch up your treasure!” 

“But what about him, Mr. Plover?” said I, jerk¬ 
ing my head at Webb. I was still a little afraid of 
that one-eyed miscreant. 

Mr. Plover laughed. 

“Don’t you fret, Bert,” said he. “That pesky 
critter won’t bother us none. I Tow he’ll rest purty 
quiet. Come, take your gun. ’ ’ 

Well, for safety’s sake we brought our two guns 
with us (though, of course, the Winchester was harm¬ 
less enough without cartridges), leaving Webb lying 
bound on the brow of the cliff. 

Mr. Plover could hardly get over his surprise when 
we reached the mouth of the cave. 

“Well now, I declare! Ef that don’t beat all ever 
I heard on! Here I been over this same hill off ’n’ 
on any time these twelve year, an’ I thought I 
knowed her like a book. But here was this cave 


TREASURE-TROVE 


277 


here, a-layin’ right under my nose, like, an’ I don’t 
never see her! Well, boys, let’s drop on down.” 

It did not take us long to get to the treasure 
chamber now. We knew the way, and besides we 
used our enemies’ lantern which we found on the 
hillside. It was not long, either, before we had laid 
bare the slab of rock that covered the hole in the 
floor. It was a heavy slab, and I doubt very much 
whether we had been able to lift it without Mr. 
Plover’s aid. But when he had secured a firm grip 
on one side and strained back with those great arms 
of his, the huge stone swung up as easily as the top 
of a bread-box. 

We dropped on our knees, we three, at the edge 
of the cavity while Mr. Plover stood over us, holding 
the lantern. The yellow light fell into a long shal¬ 
low trough, revealing a number of curious objects 
that looked like a cluster of large toadstools or puff¬ 
balls. They were round and somewhat dun-colored, 
with blotches of green mold showing here and there. 

‘‘What the deuce are they?” I began. 

“Moneybags!” cried Ned all of a sudden. 
“Moneybags, that’s what they are!” And he 
reached down to take one out. 

But just as he was pulling it forth there was a 
shower of thuds and chinks in the hole below, and he 
held up in his hand an empty leathern sack. 

“She broke!” cried Hal. “Hold the light closer, 
Mr. Plover.” 


278 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


We looked again into the cavity. There, scat¬ 
tered all over the toadstools, lay glinting gold coins. 

“Gold!” cried Mr. Plover. “By cricky, gold sure 
enough! ’’ 

Well, you should have seen the way we tumbled 
about the floor of that old dungeon! We were sim¬ 
ply wild with joy. The skeleton held no terrors for 
us now. We kicked its bones aside just to show how 
little we feared it. (And I suppose we were a trifle 
irreverent, too, in doing so.) 

Mr. Plover watched us with a broad grin on his 
face, and when we were quieted down once more 
and were standing about the treasure, 

“Well, boys,” said he, “I reckon I’m about as 
daft as you is. Jest to think now, how many times 
I’ve stood up yonder with my two legs planted over 
this here pile o’ money, an’ thinkin’ about as little 
on it as the woodpecker in the next tree. By gum, 
hit do beat all ever I heard on, hit sure do! ” 

We began lifting out the sacks then, but as they 
all burst, one after the other, Ned tore off his shirt 
and bade me do the same. 

“We’ll carry it up in our shirts,” said he. 
“They’re flannel; they’ll hold.” 

Well, when we had filled them, we certainly did 
have two heavy loads. 

“Gee!” said I, trying the heft of one, “we’ve 
sure got some gold here! I wonder how much there 


TREASURE-TROVE 


279 


“Looky here,” cried Mr. Plover, who was holding 
one of the bursted hags, “here’s somethin’ printed 
on a piece o’ tin.” 

I examined it; it was an aluminum tag with the 
letter M stamped into it. 

“That’s an M,” said I. “I wonder what it. 
means.” 

4 ‘ Here’s five C’s on this one, ’ ’ said Ned. 4 ‘ Another 
M on this one. . . . Why, they’ve all got letters on 
’em! I wonder what they stand for.” 

“I got it!” cried Hal suddenly. “They’re Latin 
letters, standing for numbers! We had all that last 
year in school. M means a thousand; C means one 
hundred, so five C’s would mean five hundred! ’ ’ 

Mr. Plover laid his hand on Hal’s shoulder. 

“Well now, listen at that!” said he in admiration. 
“Hal, you’re the smartest boy ever I laid eyes on!” 

Even in the dim lantern-light I could see Hal’s 
flush of pleasure. I believe he thought more highly 
of this simple compliment of Mr. Plover’s than of 
all the distinctions he afterwards won at college. 

“Well,” said Ned, “at that rate we’ve got twenty 
thousand dollars of gold. There are fifteen sacks 
marked M and ten marked with five C’s.” 

“Twen-ty thou-sand dollars of gold!” I echoed. 
“Great Caesar’s ghost, that’s a pile!” 

“Right smart sum, I reckon,” said Mr. Plover. 
“You boys is close to bein’ millionaires, you is. 
Well, let’s fetch her up to daylight.” 


280 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


I was the first out of the cave, and all as I raised 
my head above the embankment I thought I saw a 
sudden movement down among the shadows of the 
hillside, as of someone darting to cover. It might 
have been a trick of my imagination, for my mind 
was running on Webb just then; nevertheless, I kept 
my eyes glued on the suspicious spot till the rest had 
ascended. 

“Mr. Plover/' I said then, without turning my 
head, “I think Webb's escaped." 

Mr. Plover only chuckled. 

“Don't you worry, Bert/' said he. “He ain’t 
escaped—without he's a heap smarter'n I am, which 
I ain’t ready to allow jest yet, thick as I am. Come 
on; we’ll find him a-layin' jest where he was, 'less 
he's done gone 'n' tuk a notion to roll off the bluff." 

“Maybe you’re right," said I; “but you just fol¬ 
low me a piece down the hill. If it isn’t Webb I saw 
two minutes ago it's his ghost." 

We had not taken a dozen steps when, sure 
enough, our captive started up from behind a stump 
and, amid a din of rolling stones and cracking brush, 
went plunging down the hillside. 

In a trice Mr. Plover had whipped his rifle to his 
shoulder; but before he could pull the trigger Hal 
had knocked the barrel aside. 

“Don’t shoot!" he cried. 

Amazed, Mr. Plover only stared down at him 


TREASURE-TROVE 


281 


blankly. Then, suddenly, his face lighted with un¬ 
derstanding. 

* ‘ C ’rect! ’ ’ he exclaimed. ‘ 1 Take him alive! ’’ And 
with that he went racing after the fugitive. 

"We followed pell-mell. But, while we were yet 
some distance from the bottom, we heard a loud 
splash and knew that Webb had taken to the river. 
As we came out in view of the water there was Mr. 
Plover standing on a rock, his gun held in readiness 
and his eyes keenly searching the surface of the 
stream. 

“He ain't no bullfrog,’’ he said without looking 
around; “he’ll come up purty quick.” 

Hal caught him by the arm. 

“Don’t shoot him, Mr. Plover,” he pleaded. 
“Please don’t shoot him!” 

Mr. Plover looked down with a puzzled expres¬ 
sion. 

“But I cain’t take him alive now, Hal,” said he, 
“without I go in the water clothes ’n’ all, an’ the 
dirty rat hain’t worth that.” 

“Don’t take him at all,” said Hal. “Let him go, 
Mr. Plover, please do.” 

i 1 There he is now! ” I cried, as a head appeared on 
the surface half way across the river. 

But Mr. Plover didn’t even turn his eyes. He was 
gazing in astonishment at Hal. 

“Honest, Hal, you don’t want me to shoot him?” 


282 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


he asked in a low wondering tone; “him what mis¬ 
used you so, an’ would V killed you too?” 

“No,” Hal replied, looking out on the river. “Let 
him go.” 

Mr. Plover dropped his rifle, and the four of us 
stood there in silence, watching the swimmer. He 
had dived a second time, but when, he emerged 
again, seeing that no shot was fired, he swam on in 
to shallow water and waded boldly to the shore. 

Across the river at this point there was a small 
sand-bar, and beyond it a narrow stretch of backwater 
which lay at the foot of a steep bank bordering the 
stream for several hundred yards. 

Through this backwater Webb went splashing, 
but when he came to the bank he stopped short, 
turning his head to either side. His path of escape 
was apparently blocked. Then, looking around for 
the first time, he saw us standing on the opposite 
shore; whereupon he made a sudden desperate effort 
to scale the height in front of him, but only sliddered 
back into the water. 

“Take your time,” called Mr. Plover. “We ain’t 
a-goin’ to shoot.” 

Upon that the vile wretch faced about and, shak¬ 
ing his fist, spouted out the foulest stream of lan¬ 
guage God ever permitted man to utter. 

When he had done he ran down the backwater a 
little way to where a couple of branches overhung 


TREASURE-TROVE 


283 


the bank. Leaping np, he caught one of th^se and 
began to climb hand over hand. 

Mr. Plover suddenly raised his rifle. 

“No, Hal,” said he, smiling, “I ain’t a-goin’ to 
shoot him. But I lay I ’ll learn that polecat a lesson. ’ ’ 

I glanced across again at Webb. He had now 
ascended half way, working furiously, his feet 
against the steep earth and his hands grasping the 
bough one over the other. 

Crack! went Mr. Plover’s gun, and almost at the 
same instant Webb tumbled back into the water, 
the lower part of the bough still in his hands. The 
rifle-ball had severed it clean! 

Webb didn’t tarry now to pour out his impreca¬ 
tions; but, seizing the remaining branch, seemed 
to fly up the bank, fear doubtless lending wings. 
Once on the top he cast one look behind him and 
then disappeared into the thick foliage. 

“Well,” said Plover, still chuckling, “I don’t 
reckon we’ll see any more o’ that toad, I don’t.” 
And with that we turned and retraced our steps up 
the hillside. 

We brought our treasure then down to the open 
level space on the cliff and spread it out for closer 
view. I don’t think I ever saw so much gold before 
or since: a heaping pile of dull yellow pieces, eagles 
and double-eagles by the handful, just as Ned had 
predicted. 


284 


DOUBLE-EAGLES 


“Lordy now!” said Mr. Plover, leaning on his pea- 
rifle and smiling down at ns, “I reckon you boys’ll 
buy all the pop-corn an’ gimcracks wbat’s made. 
Won’t yon have a time though!” 

Hal suddenly sprang to his feet and walked to¬ 
wards the edge of the cliff. He stood there for a 
moment, facing the river; then, turning quickly, 

“Look here, you fellows,” said he, “there are 
twenty thousand dollars in that pile,—more than we 
can spend in a lifetime. Give Mr. Plover half, I 
say! ’ ’ 

“Right!” cried Ned, jumping up; “if it hadn’t 
been for Mr. Plover we wouldn’t have it at all.” 

“Yes, and if it hadn’t been for Mr. Plover,” said 
I, “we wouldn’t have Hal either.” 

“And just think, Mr. Plover,” said Hal eagerly, 
clasping his arm and looking up at him, “you can 
try farming again, and buy nice dresses for Mrs. 
Plover, and get that piano for her too, you know!” 

Mr. Plover turned his head and looked off across 
the river; but I saw a tear glisten in the corner of 
his eye. After a little, with gaze still averted, 

“Hal,” said he, laying his big brown hand on 
Hal’s shoulder, “I reckon I don’t know how to thank 
you boys. I ain’t no hand at speeches an’ sech. 
But the ole girl,—she’ll know.” 

Mr. Plover then invited us back to his house for 
the night, saying he would accompany us over to 
Fairdale on the morrow. We were glad enough to 


TREASURE-TROVE 


285 


accept of his hospitality again, as yon may suppose; 
accordingly, after Hal had been assured that we 
would not forget our other treasure—Barnum—Mr. 
Plover slung the two bundles of gold over his shoulder 
and set out for home, we three following in his wake. 

Although, in his simple, kindly manner, he was 
very lively and talkative throughout the whole way, 
Ned, Hal, and I scarce spoke a word. We were 
thinking back on all the dangers we had lived 
through, and were silently thanking God for His dear 
care and protection. And I was thanking our Blessed 
Mother, too; for I made sure she had watched over 
us all along and that particularly during those rack¬ 
ing minutes in Dead Man’s Cave her loving arms had 
been about us. 


THE END 


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